Things I have written down in my phone notepad that haven’t really got enough legs to make it into a blog as of yet, but are still worth reading.

On Reading in the Military….Or more aptly: My Work Makes Me Read Things I’d Rather Not…..

I have been reading. I read a lot. I read mostly things I am forced to read and little that I’m not. I read a lot of books and such about tanks and bombs and guns; I read a little Shakespeare, but mostly, I read none. I often wonder how reading would be if I could choose the book, but I don’t chase the dream too long, because of where I work.

Things That Are Cooler in Idea than in Practice

This Blog.

Running marathons

Cross Fit

Eating an entire can of frosting

Remaking Karate Kid with Will Smith’s kid and making it based around a twelve year old kid. Subsequently, I went and saw the movie with another gung ho fan of Karate Kid the day it opened and looked like a child molester….Not to mention the awkward romance between two twelve year olds. Ali with an “I” was hot and every man wanted her….and here I am watching some Chinese child and whatever Will Smith’s son’s name is and trying to connect with the characters. When I was twelve, I was scared shitless of girls, and just wanted to play. Whatever.

More than two spoonfuls of fruit cocktail

I bet people who have showers with multiple heads that come at you from all angles and levels mostly use the normal shower setting.

My wife has a car with a camera that displays on the center console when you are going in reverse. It shows you everything, and to a certain extent, even looks around the corner. My truck does not have this feature. My truck has a normal stereo in the center console. I have now backed out of multiple areas while staring at my stereo console and never even looked to see who I was about to kill…..

A Notice of the Things I Want Upon My Death:

When I die I want a band that plays a song like Puff the Magic Dragon or Gloria Estefan’s “Christmas Through Your Eyes” in my honor, and then I hope that song is stuck in all of your heads, perpetually.

Since I will die old, I want all of my children and grandchildren brought into a room and told of a vast inheritance they are due. I want the lawyer to leave the room for fifteen minutes while my kids and grandkids grow giddy with excitement. I then want the lawyer to return and explain that the inheritance is all debt. I am not even sure people can inherit debt, but I would still like this done, because I am dead and I deserve my wishes be granted.

When I die, I hope all those who have angered me or betrayed me get stuck waiting while my vast train of a funeral procession drives by, and I hope those waiting, who deserve their fate, have to pee. (In some states, when a funeral procession goes by all traffic going in either direction must stop out of respect for the dead. I like this the most of all ceremonial traditions, because in this ceremony, the person who died finally gets to do to others what others have done to him or her his entire life—screw them over on his or her way somewhere. It is the one moment where the world stops for the person being transported to their final resting place has complete power—they are like the president for a day. Plus, they get those motorcycle cops, which remind me of CHIPS, and CHIPS was a great television show.)

I actually want Officer Frank “Ponch” Poncherello (Eric Estrada) as an escort for my funeral procession. This may seem impossible due to age differences, but that is not my problem; you people need to make this happen—have some respect. (I do not under any circumstances want his partner involved in any way, shape, or form.)

When I die, I hope that people throw a party, but not because I am gone. I hope the party is like I was still there and we all just partied on.

I want a casket with explicit instructions on 1) who I am, 2) who are my relatives, 3) relevant addresses 4) a list of my enemies. I will use this information to help me determine whose entrails I will eat first, after I turn to a zombie. I will eat my enemy’s entrails first and all others who are not on my “relatives list” second. Of note: I will sell spots on the “relatives list” to people who are not actually my relatives. The money will go to the band that will play at my death party. (No guarantee I will not kill you; there is little research into how much of the brain a zombie utilizes; therefore, I cannot, with any level of certainty, commit to not eating your entrails).

I want a breakaway lid to the casket and I want a shovel with me to help me get to the surface faster after I turn zombie, as well. The shovel should have a short handle, no more than 12 inches as I will not be able to utilize a shovel of regulation size. Picture, in your head, the difficulties involved in negotiating the shovel handle when with only a foot and a half of depth, plus the pressure of six feet of dirt pushing downwards on me and all you have left me is a regulation shovel? I need to preserve my zombie energy.

Additionally, I want a fresh pair of corduroys and Doc Martins in the casket because I want to be a zombie with grunge era fashion sense.

It is important that you all pay attention to my desires, because If I come back as a ghost, I will haunt the living hell out of anyone who denies me what I want.

I just wanted you to know, because I have been writing these little things on my iPhone for weeks, but didn’t know what to do….

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Comments
  1. We’ll “Weekend at Bernies” Ponch if we have to …..

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