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How to Pass as an Immortal Being

Are you tired of restless nights spent pondering mortality, instead of that programming assignment in dire need of divine intervention? Do you want to seem cool and sexy in that ageless sort of way that compels English majors worldwide to craft Tumblr essays theorizing about your possible role as a Shakespearean muse? Are your student loans predicted to take an approximate 3.1415 millenia to pay off due to your slovenly habits of forking over copious sums for an education that will probably be obsolete in a few years, what with the exponential rate of technological development these days, and oh God you’re going to die alone and unloved with a total of $4.37 and a pack of instant coffee to your name—ahem.


If you answered yes to even one of these questions, read on! Solutions (non-alcohol based, mostly) lie ahead. If you didn’t, go away. You’re making the rest of us feel bad.


Welcome to the Institute of the Fatally-Challenged, where a ?oundless life expectancy is just the beginning! No matter if your motivations are tax-related, love-related, or driven by the fact that the only kick remaining in your repertoire of kicks is the one that connects with the bucket, this article is for you – and appearing mortal simply isn’t. Follow these five easy steps, and in no time the talk of the town will be replaced entirely with your hideously long lifespan. “I heard he’ll never bite the dust,” they’ll say. “Born God-knows-how-long ago and not a single dust particle bothered. It’s rather hygienic of him, really.”


Step 1: A Brand Spanking New Wardrobe. It really does pain me to be the bearer of bad news, but your unwashed F!rosh shirt that you wore cramming for the latest graded horror simply isn’t going to cut it. Immortals exude sophistication, not microbial cultures. And you can put away the business casual suit ensemble you have hanging hopefully in your closet, too. What are you, 158? Grow up. Check out your local Renaissance Fair. Indulge in a cape or two. Are those authentic 13th century goat-skin slippers you’re wearing? Yeah, they are. From the hands of a victim of the Spanish Inquisition no less, because immortals don’t settle. They simply wait until the problem fades away into the looming obscurity of time.


Step 2: Speaking of The Looming Obscurity of Time. It is officially no longer your problem. It is now what we in the business call “someone else’s”. Forgo replies to emails, DMs; evade taxes, payments, subpoenas – you’ll get to all those later, you promise. Wave away the grabby hands of the IRS with a flick of your ageless wrist, simply explaining that time is relative, and not something to be taken too seriously, lest we forget to enjoy ourselves. Toss your agenda into your nearest recycling bin. She’s been good to you, but it’s time you started seeing other people. And in the end, who can blame you for forgetting your midterm on the 15th when you’ve been on this earth for centuries? This is a totally valid and professional excuse to petition with. Trust me.


Step 3: You Are Now On First Name Basis With Every Influential Figure in Recorded History. Isaac, that skank. Telling everyone he “invented calculus”. The man was a talented concept-thief with bad hair, and you were the one that dropped that stupid apple on his head to begin with. Allude to this every moment you get. Allude to it over academic dinners with people that could make or break your career. Allude to it in bed. What makes for better foreplay than explaining how the original sketch looked so much better before Leo muddled up the Mona Lisa with those olive undertones? Absolutely nothing.


Step 4: If It Quacks Like A Duck… …then it’s probably an immortal. You’d be surprised at how hard it is to keep track of jargon when it’s been slapped at you from every corner of spacetime for God knows how long. Your diction will essentially be a melting pot of the human soul and all the colonialism it’s been keeping itself busy with. It’s all groovy, you yellow-bellied scourge; language rises and falls more dramatically than the Roman Empire (which—and be sure to pepper this into otherwise unrelated conversations—you were there for). Go forth and beat the living shit out of it.


Step 5: Fight For The Earth’s Rights. Finally, we at the Institute like to take the future into account. There are enough immortals out there with their heads still up Oscar Wilde’s ass, and while that’s a fine way to show off your lifespan, it’s got no nuance. You want to give off the semi-desperate air of someone that will be living on this planet long after everyone they love is wormfood, and that they want it habitable. Think environmental science major with a martyr complex. Think farmer worried about the famine lowering itself over his crops like a Bond villain from the ceiling. Advocate, baby! Old-fashioned immortality is so 1893.


An Optional Step 6: Dive Into Hedonism. Nothing says “I cannot for the life of me shuffle off this damned mortal coil” like a gradual slide into moral depravity. And if you’re really feeling funky, you could turn that gradual slide into something a little more modern, like a waterslide, or a botched skydiving attempt.


And there you have it! Five simple steps mostly attainable from the comfort of your own home, or whatever you’re paying for that passes as one. Welcome to the rest of your life!