On "The Price is Right" you have to guess how much the gifts cost. At Christmas, you're not allowed to guess. I guess that puts the "Gift of Life" somewhere in between. You can say what you think it's worth, but not to the people that gave it to you. (My parents are nowhere close, so...)
McDonalds or Burger King? If you choose McDonalds, you win death by arteriosis. The fried psuedo-meat collects in your veins, silently squeezing off the blood supply to your brain. Burger King is the king of carcinogenics. Their flame-broiled burgers are the catalyst for a network of cystic cells that rot you from the inside. Fun? Absolutely!
When you go to the store, the clerk innocently asks, "paper or plastic?" I always let them decide. It's kinda neat to see if they care less about killing the trees or our ozone layer. (Last time the guy said plastic was closer)
Death is actually pretty funny. You wonder about it your whole life, and then it comes—unexpectedly! It just jumps out and goes, "Gotcha!" Luckily for small vermin crossing the road, they're too dumb to wonder about it. They become tread-fill in an instant, and never know the difference.
Then there's pecuslaughter. It's an accident; an honest mistake. People go away on vacation, and pet caretakers kill their fish—or their bird. After a friend recently killed this family's bird, they asked him to name the new one. When he told me this, my best suggestions were: Stiffy, Elvis or Morty (as in Rigor mortis). Hey, it happens.
I love how the U.S. government has these billion dollar signal dishes inviting alternate life forms in space to come to Earth. "Hi we're Earth. Come for dinner. It's on us."
Then when they get here, we BLAST'em out of the sky!
They don't even get a decent burial. The government cleans their little bodies out of the desert and cleaves them up into space pate'.
And we all know how important burials are. When a dog dies, the only proper burial is in the backyard. Fish get the proper burial when alms are said and the priest gives the ceremonial flush. (Proper burial for a cat is the grill of a highspeed Landcruiser)
People get a different treatment. First of all, the hearse gets to run red lights on the way to the graveyard—because when you're dead, it's important that you make good time. (DM)
After the service is done, and you're six feet under, it sounds like a party. Tons of people you don't know, and everybody's stoned. You have plenty of time to relax and reminisce. I think this is the point when you figure out that college was just intensive training for Jeopardy, and that you took Mr. Rogers way too seriously when you were young.
Now you're just hangin' out, watching TV shows like Mortrose Place and Tim Allen's "Box Improvement." You think "Tales from the Crypt" is dumb, and "Golden Girls" is a hilarious retrospect. Your favorite gameshow is the "Hollywood Stiffs."
"I'll take Elvis for the block."
"All right Elvis, which of these is not a proper way for a rock star to die: a plane crash, choking on vomit, or prostate cancer?"
"Well babe, Elvis sez it's-that prostate thing."
"I agree."
"That's correct and circle gets the stiff."