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2:11 p.m. - 2001-11-20


Soooo...Susie and I went to Frank's funeral today.

Out of the three funerals I went to this year, this one ranked #2 for sadness. The saddest was my buddy Brad's, which had me unsuccessfully fighting off tears because his parents were so tore up.

Number three was the former editor of my former newspaper job. He was a bitter old alcoholic of a man and his son was pretty coked up at the funeral, making all sorts of unfunny jokes that his dad wasn't really in the coffin and they had lost his body, blah blah blah. It woulda been pretty funny actually, except I hate cocaine addicts and ... was the guy's dad's funeral. You'd think he coulda laid off the snot clogger for an hour or so.

So Frank ranks #2. I didn't cry, but it was nice to see such a large turnout for such a thin man. Granted, the average age of the crowd was death, but it was a large, near-death crowd.

I decided a few things while I sat there listening to Rev. Brian give the eulogy or whatever it is you call it when the preacher stands up there and says a lot of nice things.

1) I want my funeral to be fun. That's all there is to it. I discussed it with Susie over lunch afterwards ... I want an Elvis impersonator singing either "Wind Beneath My Wings" or "My Heart Will Go On (Theme from "Titanic")". If an Elvis impersonator isn't available, a clown will do just fine. And the song has to be cheesy. If I die 40 years from now, just pick out whatever cheesy songs are deeply imbedded in our pop culture at that point.

2) I want my corpse to be hooked to some sort of harness so that at the end of the service, I can be yanked out of the coffin and hoisted above the people in the pews. I then want my body raised and dropped quickly so that it looks like I'm dancing the Dance of the Dead in mid-air.

3) I want somebody to have my voice on a tape in a boom box at the back of the room with me yelling "I'M NOT DEAD YET!" Then, when everyone turns around, I want it to say "Oh wait. I'm sorry, yes, I'm still dead."

4) One word: Strippers

5) I want lots of spotlights on my casket. Oh ... and while the Elvis guy/clown is singing, I want my absolute worst pictures flashed up on a screen over my casket in the most unflattering slide show ever. The kinds of photos where my eyes are half closed with half smiles and messy hair will be the best.

6) I don't want relatives getting up and talking about my accomplishments. I want old college roommates telling stories about coming home from class to find me with my penis stuck in vacuum cleaner hoses. And I want several of them telling the same story basically verbatim but make it look like none of them knew the other was going to tell the same story that they're here to tell.

7) I want everyone to sing "For He's a Jolly Good Fellow" rather than pray.

I can't think of much else, but I'm sure as I give it more thought, I'll come up with more.

There's this girl that sits outside my window and smokes quite a bit.

Last week she had blonde hair. Kinda cute in a way.

This week, she has dyed her hair a magenta color that makes her look like she's been shot in the scalp.

I'm no longer attracted to her and refuse to pinch my nipples and moan seductively while I stare out my window at her anymore.

That'll teach her.

I had a massive salad for lunch.

I really just wanted to ask the waiter how the hell was I supposed to eat this thing because it stood about a foot off my table.

But I didn't. I carefully ate half of it to where I could maneuver around it better.


That was one crazy salad.

I'm tired.

This is neither a new or surprising fact. It just means, I'm hungry.

I've gotta stop by the pharmacy tonight to pick up a prescription for my medicinal marijuana.

Hey! I can't help it! I need it to kill the pain of knowing that this is as good as my life is going to get.

Just kidding.

I have to pick up my Avandia for my diabetic condition.

One side effect I have from Avandia is that I'm always cold now. Even on warm days, I'm cold.

I think this stuff is thinning my blood. Or whatever your blood does when you're cold. I just assume it would be thinning. I'm no doctor. I don't really know what it does.

I'm having the worst time today trying to get people to understand a simple process.

Y'see, I'm faxing people an Approval Sheet. That means that YOU approve the profile that we've written for you and you have to A) Sign the sheet and B) Check the "APPROVED" box.

That's it.

Apparently, this is rocket science to some people.

I've emailed the same form back to the same guy three times. And each time it's the same thing...

"I'm sorry ... I checked the wrong box again...can you send it back to me?"

Look Forrest ... find somebody else around the office that has an inkling about checking boxes because it's obvious that you have the IQ of a parakeet with a permanent concussion. If I get one more call from you telling me that you screwed up the sheet, I'm gonna go ballistic.

That's it.

I'm sleepy.

Gotta get up and move around a bit and get some blood running through my veins.

See ya!

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