I was born in Milwaukee. Chances are, I will die in Milwaukee. And in between these two events I've developed a rather dark sense of humor – which has led me to write this blog.

In short, because I have lived a very Milwaukee life, I think it would be fitting and a little funny if I died a very Milwaukee death. So here are a few ways I'm hoping to go. (But not too soon – OK, universe?)

1. Struck by a falling chunk of the Hoan Bridge while leaving Summerfest at closing time on the very last night of, say, Summerfest 2065.

2. Run over by a fleet of Harley-Davidsons. Not just one, please, but at least six or seven. I guess I want a dramatic death.

3. Strangled by a string of Usinger's sausages. Choking on a brat chunk is a possibility, too.

4. Die of a broken heart if the Oriental Theater ever closes.

5. Freeze to death during a New Year's Day Polar Bear Plunge. I keep saying I'm never doing it again, and yet, and yet ...