XLII. Carpe Diem
"Clubber, would you say you have led a full life?" Greg asked with a tail of spaghetti curled around his chin.
"By full, what do you mean? A lot of women?" I poured some more chianti.
"No. I mean a FULL life."
"I don't understand. You mean like a lot of money?"
"You don't get it. Something more important. Do you ever feel like your life is missing something?" he said.
"Are you trying to tell me you're gay, Greg?" I asked in hushed tones as the waitress walked by.
"No, no. Damn, no!"
"Oh," I said, hiding my disappointment.
"A counselor once told me to write my own obituary. Said it was a good way to gauge my self-worth and reassess my life."
"Did you do it?"
"I did, and it changed me."
I could see he was talking about something that was painful and important. So I made fun of him and slashed his tires while pretending to be on a bathroom break.
But it got me to thinking – what kind of obituary would I have? Wouldn't it be a good idea to pen my own obituary instead of leaving it to chance and vengeful relatives? I went home and grabbed my pen.
Clubber Lorraine Lang, 52, homemaker, peacefully entered into sweet communion with our dear sweet Eternal Goodness on Friday after a lengthy car crash, which he survived. He later succumbed to a bobcat.
He was preceded in death by his great-great-great-great grandmother and ... a whole lot of dead relatives (names available upon request). Survivors include his brother, James, and most people reading this.
Born at an early age in 1979, Clubber quickly became older. He excelled at math and English, but not well, and was held back consequently. After a disappointing career in journalism, Clubber learned to read. When that didn't overcome his illiteracy, he became a world-renowned musician, scoring a minor hit with "Maggie, Won't You Slap at My Drawers." His love of singing was only surpassed by his hatred for Etruscans. In lieu of flowers, please grow marijuana.
Services will be held at Pecan Grove Memorial, with a light lunch and cake served afterwards. Bo Diddley performs. No cover.
"By full, what do you mean? A lot of women?" I poured some more chianti.
"No. I mean a FULL life."
"I don't understand. You mean like a lot of money?"
"You don't get it. Something more important. Do you ever feel like your life is missing something?" he said.
"Are you trying to tell me you're gay, Greg?" I asked in hushed tones as the waitress walked by.
"No, no. Damn, no!"
"Oh," I said, hiding my disappointment.
"A counselor once told me to write my own obituary. Said it was a good way to gauge my self-worth and reassess my life."
"Did you do it?"
"I did, and it changed me."
I could see he was talking about something that was painful and important. So I made fun of him and slashed his tires while pretending to be on a bathroom break.
But it got me to thinking – what kind of obituary would I have? Wouldn't it be a good idea to pen my own obituary instead of leaving it to chance and vengeful relatives? I went home and grabbed my pen.
Clubber Lorraine Lang, 52, homemaker, peacefully entered into sweet communion with our dear sweet Eternal Goodness on Friday after a lengthy car crash, which he survived. He later succumbed to a bobcat.
He was preceded in death by his great-great-great-great grandmother and ... a whole lot of dead relatives (names available upon request). Survivors include his brother, James, and most people reading this.
Born at an early age in 1979, Clubber quickly became older. He excelled at math and English, but not well, and was held back consequently. After a disappointing career in journalism, Clubber learned to read. When that didn't overcome his illiteracy, he became a world-renowned musician, scoring a minor hit with "Maggie, Won't You Slap at My Drawers." His love of singing was only surpassed by his hatred for Etruscans. In lieu of flowers, please grow marijuana.
Services will be held at Pecan Grove Memorial, with a light lunch and cake served afterwards. Bo Diddley performs. No cover.
posted by Clubber Lang at 9:28 AM
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