I’m skydiving on Sunday in Vegas, and I’m gonna level with you, America—I couldn’t think of anything to write. I had a few different ideas. Maybe my last will and testament . Or a list of things I’ll tragically miss out on. Possibly amenities I hope they offer in hell. But when I spend every other 20 seconds vividly imagining the crater my body is going to make upon impacting the earth, it’s hard to find the mental clarity to write anything creative. So here’s what you get: a teaser.
Just for the sake of At The Buzzer, and possibly to serve as my legacy, I’m going to spend a hundred extra dollars on HD footage and pictures of the skydive/assisted suicide that we can post on the site. I’ll be the reporter, bringing the experience to you live. This way, you can literally view every stage of my breakdown transition, from the “clearly-faking-apathy stage” upon arrival, to slight heart attack, to full-on sobbing, and finally the “oh my god is that sound coming from my mouth?” phase. All for your viewing pleasure. And if you’re lucky, you might even catch a glimpse of dives of show contributor Gary Sundt and the even more elusive Tech Guy. Check back next week for the full low down.
Also, what say do you think that dog had in skydiving? Feel sorry for the guy; all he wanted was to chase cars and nap, then his owners threw him out of an airplane.
Gray Areas 
Instead of shouting something on the way out of the plane, you should try to sing a song the whole way down. No Taylor Swift allowed.
Singing Taylor Swift the whole way would have been the best idea ever. I feel like a failure. But I did do the Tebow at the end, so at least there’s that.
Did you die? I hope not. Richard Dawson died on Saturday and, in America, only one famous person is allowed to die per weekend.
I lived! And it was amazing. More to come on the experience this week. Man, I wish I would have known that rule, I would have felt a lot better about the dive!