Rick Rolland had always considered himself a pretty average guy. Average height, average looks, average job at an average office where he did average things like filing reports and pretending to laugh at his boss's terrible jokes. The only thing below average about him was his luck, which had a tendency to turn even the simplest tasks into elaborate disasters.
Case in point: today was supposed to be his day off.
He stood at the crosswalk downtown, enjoying the rare sunshine and thinking about what flavor of instant ramen he'd have for dinner tonight. Chicken? Beef? The spicy one that always made him regret his life choices? These were the profound questions that occupied his mind as he waited for the light to change.
Behind him, a vending machine hummed ominously. Rick didn't notice. He was too busy watching a street performer juggle flaming batons across the street, which was admittedly pretty cool.
What Rick also didn't notice was the banana peel on the sidewalk. Who even eats bananas on the street anymore? Apparently someone did, and they had the courtesy to leave the evidence right in Rick's path.
The walk signal turned green. Rick stepped forward with all the confidence of a man who had no idea he was about to become a statistic. His foot landed squarely on the banana peel, which had been waiting for this exact moment like a coiled spring of comedic destiny.
"Whoa!" Rick's arms windmilled as his feet shot out from under him. He stumbled backward, crashing directly into the vending machine behind him.
Now, this wasn't just any vending machine. This was a vending machine that had been waiting thirty-seven years for its moment of glory. It had dispensed countless sodas, survived two attempted robberies, and had been urinated on by at least four different dogs even homeless people. It was done with this world.
The impact of Rick's body hitting it was the final straw. Something inside the machine popped, then sparked, then made a sound like a dying robot whale. The entire front panel exploded outward in a shower of soda cans, bags of chips, and what appeared to be a sandwich that had expired during the previous presidential administration.
Rick, already off balance, got pelted by approximately forty cans of carbonated beverages. He spun like a breakdancer who had never taken a lesson, stumbled back onto the street, and looked up just in time to see the most beautiful sight he'd ever witnessed.
A truck. A massive, gleaming delivery truck with the words "Heaven's Bakery" painted on the side in cheerful pink letters. There was even a cartoon angel on it, smiling and holding a cupcake.
How ironic, Rick thought, which was impressive considering he had about half a second to think anything at all. "Wait, should I do something...?"
The truck driver, who had been reaching for his coffee and absolutely not watching the road, looked up at exactly the wrong moment. His eyes went wide. Rick's eyes went wide. The cartoon angel on the truck seemed to go wide too, though that might have been Rick's imagination.
Then came the impact. Rick had always wondered what it would feel like to be hit by a truck when he was taking a poop.
Well, now he knew. It felt like being hit by a truck. There wasn't really a poetic way to describe it. One moment he was standing there covered in soda and regret, and the next moment he was airborne, flying through the air with all the grace of a malfunctioning helicopter.
He landed twenty feet away with a sound that could only be described as "splat," which was both accurate and deeply unfortunate. Around him, people screamed. Someone called for an ambulance. The truck driver stumbled out of his vehicle, looking like he was about to have a mental breakdown.
Rick lay there on the pavement, feeling a strange sense of calm wash over him. So this was it. This was how Rick Rolland died. Not saving a child from a burning building. Not fighting for a noble cause. Not even choking on food like a normal person.
No, he died because of a banana peel, a homicidal vending machine, and a bakery truck driven by a man who loved coffee more than traffic safety.
As his vision started to fade, Rick could only think one thing: This is the stupidest death in human history.
"Fuck... I didn't imagine it will be like this..."
"I really wish I could feel a milf's thigh sandwiched my head before I die..."
"Or maybe... feeling a milf's warm and soft..."
"...ass."
His eyes closed. The world went dark. And Rick Rolland, age twenty-seven, officially ceased to exist. Or so he thought.
When he opened his eyes again, he wasn't lying on the pavement. He wasn't in a hospital. He wasn't even in a morgue, which would have made more sense given the whole "splattered by a truck" situation.
Instead, he was standing in what appeared to be an endless white void. Not the peaceful, heavenly kind of white void. More like the "someone forgot to finish designing this place" kind of white void.
"What the hell?" Rick looked down at his hands. They looked normal. He patted his chest, his face, his legs. Everything seemed intact. No tire marks, no broken bones, not even a bruise from the soda can assault.
"Wait...!!!" Rick take a good long look at what's behind his pants.
"Oh, thank the heavenly gods... my dick's still there, and massive. You know what else is massive?"
A mechanical chime echoed through the void, the kind of sound a video game makes when you complete a tutorial. Then, floating in the air right in front of his face, words appeared in glowing blue text:
"Not that kind of massive...! I'm sorry!"
"Huh...?"
[WELCOME TO THE CARD SYSTEM]
[ANALYZING CAUSE OF DEATH...]
[DEATH TYPE: COMEDICALLY STUPID]
[GENERATING FIRST CARD...]
Rick stared at the words. Then he did what any rational person would do in this situation.
He said, "Oh, come on. It wasn't that bad."
"I know a guy who died more stupid than that!"