So, you've decided to end your own life. Congratulations. I'm impressed with your rare combination of can-do attitude and maudlin self-absorption. Doubtlessly, you will want your last act on this mortal coil to grandly remind everyone how much they took you for granted, but in today's media-savvy society the classics just don't grab the attention they used to.

As a supervillain, I'm more than happy to lend a helping hand in your demise as it would count toward my lifetime death toll, something we supervillains keep track of and compare in friendly competition at our many seminars and conferences.

Now then, in the spirit of quid pro quo, the following are some amateur mistakes to avoid.

Bridges, be they suspension, truss, or even cantilever
I understand the temptation here. They are large, impressive triumphs of human ingenuity. A true spectacle. Who wouldn't want to end it all at such an awe-inspiring location? Well, the answer to that question should be you, you big Drama Queen. Talk about overdone. You know, there's a documentary about people doing the old autocorpse routine at the Golden Gate bridge? Guess what, it sucked. 19 deaths in an hour and a half, of which I remember zero. And you think your precious little goodbye-cruel-world leap off the safety barrier is going to be remembered? Not a chance.

Suggestion: Do it on the field of play at a big sporting event, preferably midfield on a high attendance day. Here YOU are the spectacle, not the venue. Portability will restrict your weapon of choice to a pistol, or maybe a knife if you genuinely hate yourself. But, if you do manage a hanging death at a non-domed stadium I'll buy the casket myself. And for Christ's sake pick an important team. No need to waste your last hurrah on the Miami Dolphins.

Waterfalls and other natural wonders
Unless you're an outdoorsy type I recommend against this. I mean, it's one thing if you're into conservation and the whole ashes to ashes bit, but as you're likely an 8-hours-a-day-TV-habit type with about as much mind for environmentalism as the average hobo, why kid yourself? I point you to the St. Anger Principle in which one's lifestyle determines one's deathstyle. Choose something more specific and appropriate. While suicides at Niagara Falls may cast a dark cloud over a few Honeymooners' afternoon, it lacks personality. Not to mention that sometimes bodies are not easily found and it may be days or weeks before someone notices you're gone. Remember your suicide fundamentals: if people think you're still alive, you haven't done your job.

Suggestion: Fill your entire domicile with televisions and tune them all via TiVo or DVD to episodes of "Lost." Dress in your most bedraggled, plane-crash-survivor reminiscent clothing. Open your veins (player's choice on instrument) and in your own blood scrawl a cryptic message like "Sayid knows..." By 8AM the next day your death will have spread to every corner of the internet mistaken for gruesome viral marketing.
Act quick, this could be a popular one.

Garages, or carholds
You know the old song & dance where someone starts their car with the garage door closed and waits for exhaust fumes to bring loss ofconsciousness and eventually brain death. It's been a popular heartstopper for years due to its ease of implementation and relative painlessness outside of mild hallucinations and shortness of breath. However, as in the fitness world so goes the ethos of self-termination: no pain, no gain. You can't achieve longstanding infamy without an innovative deep-sixing. Of course, one of the major drawbacks of this particular form of suffocation is that it's nowhere near foolproof. First, most people know jack shit about cars and the last thing we need is some hipster douchebag in a Prius wondering why the carbon monoxide hasn't kicked in yet. Second, CO poisoning is a time-consuming process, allowing plenty of time for loved ones or even neighbors to notice something's amiss. No, the automobile is pretty much a dead end until we get hover cars. But then I got plans. Big plans.

Suggestion: Since you seem so set on taking a passive role in the process, I was going to suggest building an elaborate suicide machine that would allow you to not actually deal the death blow, but make sure the job was done correctly. Unfortunately, some forward-thinking motherfucker in Australia just offed himself in his own driveway via some complicated remote rig with a pistol. Fired four rounds into his head. Gentlemen, the bar has been raised. [And this has been all over the news, proving my fucking point. Innovation = international notoriety.] The only way to top this guy is to build a trebuchet and hurl yourself into the next life. Find and join your local Society for Creative Anachronism, they'll be more than happy to help with plans and construction. You may want to be a little cagey concerning your ultimate objective, though. If they start asking questions, bolt and hope you can finish the construction on your own. But, if you play your cards right you could experience airborne self-deliverance on the grounds at a Renaissance fair. In a tunic and leggings, no less.

Exquisitely appointed bathrooms
Note the full title. I actually have quite a fondness for seedy motel bathroom jobs. There's a gritty realism to it that will never fade, like a Jim Thompson novel. It's the whole
wealthy-executive-slits-own-wrists-in-antique-Italian-marble-bathtub deal that seems awfully 1986. What's with the shrinking violet act? If you've got money and influence act like it.

Suggestion: Pull a Budd Dwyer and call a press conference. This is one case where the it's-been-done argument does not apply. America will never get sick of televised death. We got our first taste of blood with Oswald and we've been ravenous for it ever since. The room will be full of TV crews and photographers so the whole thing will be professionally documented. On one hand it'll will traumatize some people for life, but on the other it will inspire decent music. After all, ol' Budd was on the cover of the first Neurosis record and Rapeman wrote a song about him. Contribute to the arts, you selfish jerk.

professoruniverse@gmail.com