Saturday, February 3, 2007

Dead Man Walking

Raise your hand if you're afraid of death. Not me. My hands are way down by my ankles. Again. That's not to say I'm looking forward to it, just figure most of my problems will be solved. No more getting up for work, no more fighting my way onto the subway, no more court dates or sexual harassment lawsuits. I can finally relax. My wife can start dating again after cashing in my life insurance. Maybe this time she'll find real happiness.

Death, I surmise, is a piece of cake. It's the actual dying process that's got me a bit weirded out. I want a pain free exit. Preferably just after having a 3 hour sex-a-thon with a 25 year old bombshell (female, thank you very much) who finds me oddly irresistible at 70. I know, long shot, since I'm 40 and not even my wife finds me irresistible. Still, a man has to hang on to his dreams.

Then there is the whole 'afterlife' thing. Personally, I think this is it. There is nothing else. Maybe reincarnation, which means I'll be back as a slug or naked mole rat or something. But heaven and hell? Doubt it. Could be wishful thinking on my part, for I've not exactly lived a wholesome life. My high school buddies can attest to that. In fact, my wife can attest to that. OK, everyone who knows me, knew me or met me randomly at a bar can attest to that.

Plus, I don't have to deal with my own funeral. That will be my wife's or kid's problem. Probably my kids since my wife will most likely be in jail for stabbing me to death with a plastic spork. Being the great father I am, I've made it simple for them. Just send me off in a Viking Funeral. Stick me in my kayak, douse me with gasoline, light, push out into Boston Harbor. Hopefully, the harbor will be clean enough by then that I don't ignite the pollutants in the water and burn down the city. Even if, that would be pretty cool. I'd be known as the dead guy that burned down Boston. And just imagine the pictures! I'll make sure to add into my will that my Viking Funeral must be held at night. Will add to the effect.

Maybe a clambake, too. To celebrate! Cause, let's face it, lots of people will be celebrating my demise.

Today's distraction: Check out some of the more original epitaphs found around the world. I particularly like the one that basically tells people to bugger off. I imagine mine to be something along the lines of "Here lies the ashes of a dickweed, who's dick is now a weed". That was off the top of my head. I'll fine tune it over the next 30 years.


French said...

That is some shit, man. Not much can depress me, but that was just so far beyond anything I have ever read...listen, if you want James and I to sneak into your place and kill you in your sleep, just say the word. Don't worry...we'll give your wife a little how's your father on our way out; perhaps a punch in the ovary will do.

BeachBum said...

Not meant to depress at all. I figure my misery tends to entertain others. Just as other's misery entertains me.

If by James you mean Jeff, than I would rather die of alcohol poisoning after a night out with you two. And if Jeff is there, then Victor must be around, too. Tell them both I said hi.