At times, I've had access to a virtually unlimited supply of zolpidem and clonazepam since I first read Final Exit, and the idea of combining those drugs with a bag over my head was not ever on my radar. (In point of fact, Final Exit was not a very good book for its purpose even by the standards of 1991, but its popularity as a number one nonfiction bestseller did set the stage for what would follow, swamping utterly ineffectual prolife forces under a prochoice tsunami.)