The L.A. Beast strikes me as the kind of guy who is at peace with whatever happens to him. And it’s only a matter of time until something happens to him. Something…how do you say?…NOT GOOD.
I mean, the guy has chugged 20 year old Crystal Pepsi, eaten a 5-pound bag of sugarless gummy bears, ingested a fucking cactus and he’s lived to tell about it. Like I said, only a matter of time till his stomach cries “NO MAS” and just exits out of his body through either his mouth or his asshole.
Come to think of it, when the time does come (I hope not anytime soon) dying violently on the shitter is really the only way for the L.A. Beast to go. That way people at his funeral can say, “He was a crazy son of a bitch, and his farts constantly smelled like death, but he died doing what he loved. Respect.”