March 26, 2005

I’m just sayin…

I know this isn’t a legal document, but given my meager lifestyle and savings, this will have to do. All the talk in the media of late about Terry Schiavo and her persistive vegetative state have got me thinking about what I would like to happen if I’m in a similar situation.

I say. Pull the damn plug. Remove the tube and starve my ass, just make sure I die thin and fabulous. Then put me in a Hugo Boss suit, set me on fire, and scatter me to the winds.

I believe that means “do not resuscitate” should I die in surgery. Do not keep me alive by artificial means. Put me in a designer suit. Cremate me.

Now with the scattering… There are two schools of thought.

  • 1. pour my ashes onto the floor of The Lone Star Saloonto be mixed in with the peanut shells and garbage.
  • 2. Find a high cliff overlooking the Pacific Ocean and put me back where I was happiest.

    • and one last thing. There is a vintage suitcase under my bed that contains items of a, let’s say more personal nature, that needs to be disposed of prior to the family claiming my belongings. While you’re at it, double check the night stand.