A Massive Undertaking

Death. It can’t be avoided. Everyone’s done it. Einstein, Elvis, that guy that cut you off today on the highway, he’s a goner too (ok not today but who knows? Maybe he drove off a cliff) even that guy that’s looking at you right now, What’s his name? Steve? Duane? No Matter. They’re only one high energy drink and prescription Tylenol away from kicking the bucket. So, we might as well prepare for it no? Still a weird concept. I dunno. There’s still plenty more for me to see or do before I go. If I don’t die by someone’s hand (legal or immoral) then I’m pretty sure its by my own curiosity or terrible dumb luck. Like those rabbits that lived under our chicken coop that have now disappeared. Me. Compared to a rabbit. Not a Rabbi, that would be crazy! It would take on a massive undertaking, not undertaker, I can’t be my own undertaker, can I? If I dug my own hole, took some pills and rolled myself in does that count? Or does that make me a holy roller? Sounds legit. Let’s go with that. Anyways, What I’m trying to say is if I were to die tomorrow, there would be three things I would want:

#1 Would be “Bro Hymn” by Pennywise to be played at the funeral (Not bro hymn tribute, yes there is a difference lol)

#2 Strippers and a Bouncy castle. Because? Fuck it - The funeral is not for me anyways and who can be sad when you have strippers and a bouncy castle? That’s right. No one.

#3 On my tombstone, I want it to say: Avenge Me! and my birthdate–? so “Jan.11.1980-?” and nothing else.

That way

It will be this huge mystery

If anyone who sees my grave

They will have nothing but questions

What happened to him?

Who wronged him?

No picture?

Where's the end date? Has he Risen?

Was it Jesus?

Was Jesus here and we missed it?!

Who was this man? 

What can we do?

They start by searching Google

Find Nothing

Throw the question out onto reddit

Gets 10k upvotes

Starts a Subreddit

Creates a cult following

Band of kids get together

Like a Scooby Doo investigation

Start trending on Twitter

They catch the local ghost that was terrorizing the old train station

It was old man Mcginty and he would have gotten away with it

If it weren't for those pesky kids 

But knows nothing about my grave.

People pour in from around the world

To come say their vigils

Their pilgrimage blocks the traffic for miles

But it brings in millions of dollars to the community

A GoFundMe page gets created for those “that had no voice”

Prime minister catches wind

From all the public publicity

Names a holiday after me

I become a local Canadian hero

Teenagers celebrate by getting drunk/high and having sex on my grave

Doesn’t sound like a bad idea now does it?!

Coke Addict

 My response to addicts trying to quit:

The real addiction here is Coke. I love it. You love it. Your aunt Carole loves it. Who knew battery acid could taste so good?! I didn't! I can even use it to clean my tools! It's amazeballs! Have you tried it? It's like 10 herculean men picking you up, then body slamming your senses. And it used to contain real cocaine! How is this shit not flying off the shelves? Drink it. Love it. Accept your failed attempts to kick anything because this shit kicks back! In the junk! It's like a god-damned midget punching you in the groin telling you to get up! There's a world out there. No need to cry. Are you crying? Grab a Coke and feel the gut punch of yesterday today. It's Thursday for fuck's sake. Your late for work! Grab a coke and run your ass to work - Because this can has more calories than that McDonald's breakfast that you had to have two of. It's like a rocket in your pants! You can travel time! Fucking Time Travel! And still selling around 40 cents a can! That's cheaper than a stalk of celery. And who eats celery?! That's right no one. So open up a can time traveler and enjoy a Coke. *Not paid or endorsed by Coke and if I was I'd fucking rule time! Like riding dinosaurs and shit! Doesn't that sound Awesome? Because it. IS. Coke. Drink it.* 

Holy Roller

            It’s a funny thing sometimes how we wind up in the job or careers that we end up doing. Some people were born with a knowledge of what they want to do for a living - Like it was a gift from God himself who hath so provideth them this knowledge, A divine right. And for that, I have always envied those people as I have not (still not) or have ever been truly sure of what I was meant to do with this time occupied on Earth. I for one got into the trades because I was smart enough to realize that I needed something to build towards (even if I was unsure what that was) but still allowed me to enjoy my hobbies at the time of drinking till dawn with friends and chasing women. Some look to their parents for advice and end up following in their footsteps. I tried that. Getting kicked out of university ended my chances of doing what my father wanted me to as it interfered with my two favorite hobbies. Twenty years pass and three tickets later I have concluded: If I had the chance to do it all again, I would have been a lawyer…or a gynecologist. But one thing I knew for sure, was that I would not, could not, be what my mom wanted me to be: A priest. Yet I couldn’t help myself from wondering, what would it have been like had I did? I think it would probably go something like this:

First, I would like to start off by saying that I’d be terrible. Just the worst.

Probably the worst priest on Earth for vey different reasons.

All the Kids would be safe.

But not their moms…

Or grieving widows…

Tell the best priest jokes

Use terrible church puns

Cursing while giving sermons

Due to drinking all the holy wine

Getting drunk on holy wine

Running out of wine

Then turning water into wine

Start selling it on the side

Labeling it “Gifts from God”

Giving each bottle my blessing

Make a side profit

Pocket said side profit

Call it a “church donation”

Get idea to steal church donations

Confess my sins

To myself

Do it again

Make more profit

Decide to do confessions

Blackmail people from confession

Receive more “donations”

Ignore taxes because of church loophole

Spend said donations on hookers and blow

Confess my sins again

Relieve myself…

In the baptismal font

Decide to legalize cocaine through the church through another loophole

Become a priest kingpin

Setup community drug dealers

Call them my “disciples”

Get prostitution accepted among the masses

Confessionals now used for double duties

More donations

Launder money through church bingos and bake sales

Bribe high ranking officials, police, and politicians

Groom an army of followers

Break away from Catholicism

Create my own religion

Build church brothels in every city on Earth

Bring back polygamy and Prima Nocta

Achieve God like status

Take up smoking because…fuck it

Buy really big pointy hats

LOL

Looking at it all now I couldn’t become a priest,

the path in front of me is just too big 😉

The Humboldt Hit

Cutting through the sleet of darkness - The roar made from 500 cubic inches
snarling beneath the hood of his '75 Cadillac Coupe deVille -

(I say his as in I may have acquired/borrowed) - Exhaust tips resonating 

my throttle input down alleyways and bouncing off urban brickwork - Quad halogens

cast shadows upon the freshly plowed snowbanks at 30 miles per hour,

Dimly guiding me through the streets in the upper west side -The worn

and now frozen wiper blades passably keep the snow from penetrating the windshield -

This Sunday morning 3AM blizzard having already arrived - Promptly erasing my path 

as fast as the Bridgestone’s can carve it:

 

A perfect storm....

                                For the perfect crime.

 

Sinatra's "Fly me to the Moon" starts playing over the 6x9 speakers - I crank up

the dial on this shit radio and proceed to stretch my palms at 10 and 2

and clasp the wheel again a few times - Relieving the Arthritis in my battle-scarred knuckles

now covered in the bloodstains (of the owner of said vehicle) Along with 

my white collared shirt and pinstripe tie - By orders passed down from powers above - 

The stench of dried blood mixed with tobacco smoke embedded in plaid upholstery 

forces me to roll down the windows -  

- Again -

Letting in the cold chill of November air...Punishing an already tired defrost heater -

Not sure what's louder:

 

A.

The fan struggling to keep up to the climate controls - Or -

 

B.

The hum of the right passenger wheel bearing competing with The Sultan of Swoon.

 

 

A right turn at the Humboldt Lagoons State Park sign leads the Caddy

en route towards the boat launch (So befitting for a land yacht such as this)

The weathered brakes squeal to a halt - Sliding/ploughing on all 4's...

Before stopping 2 and a half tons at the edge of the downslope -

Opening the cold four-foot chunk of American steel and glass

forces the hinges to screech loudly...Followed by a sudden thud upon closing -

Chicago's frigid winds cuts though my clothes like the butterfly knife that cut he,

(who is not to be named or talked about) and is currently residing in said vehicles trunk,

Was given an Italian necktie as a going away gift for talking/knowing too much -

With a wooden cane propped against the accelerator pedal and front bench seat -

Manually shifting the three on the tree to the letter D - Pulled out a pack of Marlboro Reds

from my breast pocket before Igniting one with the stolen dash lighter

now kept as a memento - I witness the chrome icebreaker descend within the hole it's made

only for Jack Frost to cover my sins till spring yet again

- Still -

As the crimson lights disappear into the lagoons abyss,

I couldn't help but ponder:

 

 

"Man Ol' Blue Eyes really could sing....

                                                                   He really could sing."

Starting Up A Dodge Cummins In Winter.

NNNNNNNNNNo.

Nope. Nope. Nope. No.

Nnnno. Noooooope.Nope.Nope.No.

No. No. No. No.

NnnnnnmYep Yep Yep Yep No.

Yeeep. Yeeeeep. 

Yep Yep Yepppppp YEEEEEEEESSSSSSS!