Lately I’ve been thinking about death. I don’t know why. Maybe it's because of a relapse of my recent "foot leprosy." Or maybe it’s because Steven Tyler is a judge on American Idol. Or I’m worried sick about Lindsey.
Winter always does that to me. I don’t know whether it’s because of trees denuded (a perfectly acceptable clean word) of leaves or the end of a football season that leaves us only with televised bowling. Or maybe it’s because I know that the dozens of “dogsicles” in my yard will eventually need to be picked up when they thaw. All I know is that I’m much more prone to melancholy when the snow begins to fall and the neighbor’s Christmas lights are still up (and on!) as we approach St. Patrick’s Day.
As I gaze upon a landscape barren of life (except for the Boxer from down the street who’s trying to get busy with the neighbor dog. Or the neighbor. I won’t judge), I regret the passing of another year. I pine (or any tree of your choosing) for opportunities missed and yearn for the return of warmer weather.
With a genuine pang of sadness, I realize that many of my own life’s goals have gone unfulfilled.
(LEGAL DISCLAIMER: Even though it is, I won’t refer to it as a “Bucket List.” That would be a heinous infringement on an intellectual property. Which may get me sued. And get Jack Nicholson royally hacked off at me.).
So it’s not.
As an added bonus, I also identified what needs to be done immediately after I shuffle off this mortal coil to sleep the eternal sleep and dance the eternal lambaada. More succinct than my “To Do” list, it goes something like:
2. Toss into Atlantic.
3. Cash insurance policy.
4. Throw big bash.
5. Lather, rinse, repeat.
Not terribly involved, I know. It’s just that I don’t want my wife haggling with some smarmy funeral director who’ll insist my eternal slumber requires a mahogany inlaid internment vault, Surround-Sound music, satin body shroud, undercoating, rustproofing, a hypoallergenic decomposition system, and a memorial service which would make King Tut look like a homeless person.
Pshaw. As long as you don’t pass my cold carcass around like a party favor at San Quentin, just follow the list and get on with life.
My personal goals, on the other hand, are more detailed.
1. Rip “Do Not Remove Under Penalty of Law” tags from pillows.
3. Play second base for the Yankees.
4. Place an “IOU” in the church collection plate.
5. Walk around my backyard with no pants on and yell at the squirrels (oh, wait, done that).
6. Put pennies in the “No Pennies Please” basket at the tollbooth.
7. Tip a dancer at a strip bar. Ask for change.
8. Have it my way. Order a Big Mac at Burger King.
9. Solve one of life’s most baffling puzzles: Is cottage cheese really cheese?
11. Find out what in hell 2001: A Space Odyssey is all about.
12. Go sky-diving. In my mind.
13. Stand naked in the mall food court and shout, “Hey! Check out THESE Cinnabons!”
15. Go swimming immediately after eating.
16. Get Pull My Finger recognized as an Olympic sport.
17. Create new food pyramid based on Doritos, Lite Beer, Twizzlers, and Hot Pockets.
18. Play “Strip Poker” with someone other than myself.
19. Convince my wife that I really go to Hooters for the food.
20. Go to Vegas. Win big at Rock, Scissors, Paper table.
21. Walk through the drive-thru at Wendy’s while making “Vroom, vroom” sounds.
22. Place flaming bag of dog poop on United Nations doorstep. Ring bell. Run away.
23. Charge admission in Public Restrooms. See how many people pay.
24. Golf like I bowl, bowl like I golf.
25. Order head cheese and tongue at the deli without laughing.
26. Dress as an Amish person on “Casual Fridays” at the office.
|Obligatory Charlie Sheen Mention|
29. Smuggle 13 items in the “12 Items Only” line at the supermarket.
30. Switch Folgers for real coffee.
31. Switch Sweet N Low for cocaine at Charlie's.
32. Throw poo at the monkeys in the zoo.
33. Write to the Vatican Bank. Ask if Jesus really saves.
34. Yell “Movie!” in a crowded firehouse.
35. Run with scissors in a hemophiliac ward.
36. Switch Tic Tacs for Viagra at the Nursing Home.
37. Stay awake after sex and talk with my wi...zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.
38. Figure out why I should care about Miley , Snooki, or anyone named Kardashian.
39. Go fishing at the pet store.
40. Live a life in which, forty years hence, I won’t be remembered solely as the “brother who ripped his pants open while trying to do a split at our wedding reception.”
Oops. Too late.
Bad News: Dogsicles are looking kinda mushy.