So assume that at some point in the future, you will do something great. It will be so great in fact, that you will be a living part of history, and that of course, will require some immortalization.
So you write your autobiography. You write it, publish it and put it out.
The question is: what is it called?
Mine would be called "Restless: The Story of a Boy, His Cooking and World Domination".
And for the lulz, an excerpt from one of the middle chapters:
"'Yes', I said as I gave the order to drop every bomb in the armory onto my old home-country. I believe I made it perfectly clear when I said 'Burn them ALL.' Sometimes, as the old saying goes, you have to crack a few eggs to make an omelette. And at the risk of sounding like a cliche-spouting machine, one good apple will spoil the whole bunch. Having one of their own as Absolute Ruler of the freakin' world would embolden them, strengthen them.
And the people were rotten. They didn't need strengthening, they needed cleansing. And what better way to cleanse than fire?
No matter what I did or said, I would never become persona non grata to the people of that accursed place. No, in order to make it so that my past would never come back to beg me for alms and a nice place to sleep at night, I had to wipe it off the map.
'Are you familiar with the Roman punishment for cowardice?' I asked my aide-de-camp, an attractive and genuinely intelligent Singaporean woman. She shook her head and asked what I meant. I stood, more for the sake of theatrics than anything, and addressed the entire room. 'The Legion responsible, the bloody cowards, were purged from Roman records. All monuments and documents that mention them will be either destroyed or defaced, their names being wiped from the record. It would be as if they never existed. They called it 'damnatio memoriae', and I want it done to my old homeland." I turned to face the picture window that gave me an excellent, and to be honest, quite relaxing view of the gardens and lake of my capital. 'I want them wiped from memory, to be as if they had never existed. Launch. The. Bombs.'
It took a moment, and it was done. The cleansing of the land would be complete, and I would be one of the last of a cursed breed that contaminated the world for far too long. The world could move on now."
So you write your autobiography. You write it, publish it and put it out.
The question is: what is it called?
Mine would be called "Restless: The Story of a Boy, His Cooking and World Domination".
And for the lulz, an excerpt from one of the middle chapters:
"'Yes', I said as I gave the order to drop every bomb in the armory onto my old home-country. I believe I made it perfectly clear when I said 'Burn them ALL.' Sometimes, as the old saying goes, you have to crack a few eggs to make an omelette. And at the risk of sounding like a cliche-spouting machine, one good apple will spoil the whole bunch. Having one of their own as Absolute Ruler of the freakin' world would embolden them, strengthen them.
And the people were rotten. They didn't need strengthening, they needed cleansing. And what better way to cleanse than fire?
No matter what I did or said, I would never become persona non grata to the people of that accursed place. No, in order to make it so that my past would never come back to beg me for alms and a nice place to sleep at night, I had to wipe it off the map.
'Are you familiar with the Roman punishment for cowardice?' I asked my aide-de-camp, an attractive and genuinely intelligent Singaporean woman. She shook her head and asked what I meant. I stood, more for the sake of theatrics than anything, and addressed the entire room. 'The Legion responsible, the bloody cowards, were purged from Roman records. All monuments and documents that mention them will be either destroyed or defaced, their names being wiped from the record. It would be as if they never existed. They called it 'damnatio memoriae', and I want it done to my old homeland." I turned to face the picture window that gave me an excellent, and to be honest, quite relaxing view of the gardens and lake of my capital. 'I want them wiped from memory, to be as if they had never existed. Launch. The. Bombs.'
It took a moment, and it was done. The cleansing of the land would be complete, and I would be one of the last of a cursed breed that contaminated the world for far too long. The world could move on now."
