Tuesday, July 21, 2009

last american slacker: The Interview part deux

So I was totally off about this living will thing! It's actually directions I determine about my health care in the event that I can't yell them out.

And I was all worried about the death part. This shit storm is on a totally different level!

Think about it: you're having a sandwich and maybe some chips at the park, and a boulder falls on you which crushes the part of your brain that controls speech and movement. You can't even yell out, "Fuck, get this damn boulder off my chips!" So your head hurts, you have a small cut on your thigh from car keys in you pocket being crushed into your leg, and you're pissed about the chips still.

To the world you look like some comatose shmuck just laying there pissing all over yourself, but deep inside you can still see, feel, and think. Your head is throbbing like the hangover from Spring Break 2001, but other than that and the gross smell of hospitals everything is as peachy as it can get.

Now I'm just the type of dude that likes to close down the bar. I like partying until is just me, the host, two other people, and what's left of the keg. I can sleep 14 hours, wake up, eat a sandwich, brush my teeth, and go back to sleep. It suffices to say I like to stick around for the long haul. I think I know where I want to go with this living will shit.

So here it is:

Mike's Living Will

1. Do not keep me alive if my body can't sustain everyday processes like filtering crap out of my blood, digesting pizza, processing air, responding to basic stimuli, etc. If I can do all these things, just make sure my cell phone bill doesn't go unpaid, and I don't grow facial hair. Both of those things are worse than death.

2. Pain in its many forms is totally acceptable. There are millions of people that deal with constant pain on a daily basis. Some deal with it in a dignified manner. Some bitch and moan, but let me deal with it. If I start crying bloody murder, point out that I'm actually crying, kick me in the nuts, and make we watch "Rocky". That should shut me up.

And don't give me pain meds. They make me feel weird, and they make me feel sick to my stomach. Bliss accompanied by vomiting sucks ass.

3. Treat me like I'm normal. Keep sending me emails. Comment on my stupid pics. Kick my ass at video games. Bitch about how I never reply back to your texts (I never did). It'll be hilarious and pretty damn nice of you. I'm thanking you ahead of time...just in case.

If for some reason emotion causes whoever is in charge of making these decisions for me to disregard the above three stipulations, I will haunt the fuck out of them. So help me God.

I want to stick around until the Notorious G.O.D. sends for me. I don't want any funny business and crying and crap. Life is good. Death could be a vacation, but we'll get there in good time.

That's it.

The End.

Friday, July 17, 2009

last american slacker: The Interview

The 21 year-old version of me would have freaked out on the inside and never called back.

But me, right now, in my subtly, ironic corduroy jacket and khakis just freaked out for a split second on the inside and then, was fine with the interviewer's suggestion.

A living will. He said I should look into getting one.

I guess this means people in this profession operate at a higher level than the normal shmo.

The guy said that I might even die during training.

Training?! What the fuck?

My 21 year-old self would view this as suicidal.

For some reason my present self is fine with death, but now has an issue with living a worthless life.

I guess I'll leave everything to my little sis for putting up with my shit for all these years and still manage to like me.

Now the big question is "When can I get started"?

Friday, July 10, 2009

To Whatever It Was...

To whatever it was that was attacking me last night on the way to college track: thanks for making me look like some jittery psycho. I'm sure someone saw me swatting futilely at some invisible bat.

I didn't know pissed-off nocturnal insects even existed. It's like you were an angry bee but all ninja-like. If I came too close to your hive or whatever ninja bees live in, I'm only half sorry. You should have evolved some way to let folks know where you live so we don't fuck up your house. Darting at peoples' heads at night seems way too confrontational.

What if someone just happened to have a flame thrower or a can of Raid Ninja Bug Spray?

I'll be coming to the track again. I'll take the high road and take a different path. However, if I - in my act of good faith - still manage to piss you off, I'll be ready.

You have no fucking idea how much I like running wind sprints. I'll punch in in your bug face so hard your offspring's offspring will feel it.