As I was wrapping the vacuum cord around my neck...

I was reminded of the Final Destination series.  This is something I do all the time when vacuuming.  I am not one of those lucky individuals that has a fancy or even functional vacuum cleaner let alone an awesome retractable cord.  Some of the time, I just toss the cord over pieces of furniture and that works for the most part– works meaning the cord stays out of my way.  The vacuum itself selectively works depending on its mood.  (It gets pretty cranky when it has to deal with a carpet full of dog hair.)  In certain rooms however, I need lots of cord for mobility but the excess of cord is constantly getting in my way and I end up spending most of my time tossing it about as I am trying to clean every proverbial nook and cranny.  This led to me wrapping some of the cord around my neck like a thin, rubber scarf.  It's actually functional but I realize it is somewhat silly and even dangerous looking.

Okay, that is the background.

So I am vacuuming- cord around my neck as usual- and Final Destination popped in my head.  Even my friends who detest horror movies know about the series.  It seems as if every year there is a new Final Destination coming out but all you need to see is one.  They are all variations on the exact same story.  Person forsees a catastrophic event which kills many people and warns everybody.  A few go along with the prophecy and their lives are spared.  But it's not over.  Oh, no.  Death knows when you cheat him and he will collect the souls of those who survived said event in the chronicalogical order in which they die.  Oh, and did I mention there is an omniscient mortician/voodoo man who comes and warns them of death's plan?  Well there is and it's the scary dude from Candyman (Tony Todd).  So it begins as the so called "survivors" get picked off one by one in a series of Rube Goldberg traps.  Usually it is something as innocent as going in a car wash or cooking dinner that turns into a drowning situation or a kitchen fire/stabbing.  

The series gets more ridiculous as time goes on.  The newest one has people going about their already incredibly dangerous lives as a gymnist or construction worker after their brush with death.  Really?  You have a near death experience and the Candyman himself warns you that you are going to die and you say, "No, I'm going back to work at a construction site working heavy machinery."  It gets worse!  A guy goes in for acupuncture and a girl gets lasic surgery.  Some scary giant black dude says you are going to die in a very prophetic manner and you want to go around needles or a laser?  I know acupuncture needles are small but it's Death himself after you and he can make it work.  

In a hypothetical world where I am in a Final Destnation movie, my vacuuming method would be the end of me.  I'd be frustrated from using my terrible vacuum cleaner and muttering to myself as I wrapped the cord around my neck.  I would be playing loud music to be heard over the vacuum and my neighbors would be miffed about that so's not to notice when I begin to scream or struggle.  The vacuum would start moving on its own, tightening the cord around my neck.  I let out a scream before the cord gets so tight that I can barely make audible sounds let alone be heard above the vacuum and the music.  One of my neighbors would shake his head at my lack of respect for his quiet time and put in earplugs.  My downstairs neighbor is preoccupied with her son's eighth birthday party which is loud with children's laughter.  The vacuum drags me onto the balcony.  I struggle to free myself and fall over the railing.  In true Final Destination form, the vacuum would be trapped between the lattice work on my balcony and I would be hanging from the cord.  Physics plays no role in the Final Destination movies as the cord would not break and the vacuum wedged against the slats in the balcony would hold my weight.  And then I would die but not before the apartment full of eight year-olds would see me die dangling through their sliding glass door.  Depending on which Final Destination, my eye might pop out and hit the glass.  The newer ones really go for that low bar.

Of course, If the voodoo man told me with such certainty I was going to die I would no longer wrap the vacuum cord around my neck.  I'd either off myself or get locked in a padded cell with no electrical or sharp objects.  Even then, some dumb orderly would not exstinguish a cigarette properly and my padded cell would catch on fire.

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