06
Dec
10

When we die we go to kevin’s…

The other day, upon returning home for work, I was met with a cruel surprise. My daughter’s pet fish Booty had taken a sudden turn for the worse. His timing could not have been more tragic. C’mon… I only have my little girl four days a week. That leaves three perfectly good days to die, while also affording me the opportunity to pull off the parental favorite ‘replacement fish’ maneuver. But, no…this little bastard had to have witnesses to his untimely demise. Oh, and he put on quite a show. We sat there in fish hospice for a good twenty minutes while he teetered between life and the great beyond. I could have done without the dramatic Shakespearean death scene, I’ll tell you that much. When it was finally over, my sweet child looked up at me with her big blue eyes and said, “I guess Booty’s going to Kevin’s”. I’ve given up trying to explain Heaven to her, because quite frankly I really don’t get it myself. If she wants to believe that when you die, you hang out at Kevin’s…fine by me. On a side note, if your name is Kevin, kindly keep your distance because she thinks her grandpa and two fish are buried in your backyard.

I don’t have any semblance of a will, probably because it would be ridiculously depressing to create one. I can’t even imagine how thrilled my family and friends would be with my generosity. “Well, Jessica it looks like you’re the proud owner of a Mazda 6 under the condition that you continue making those payments to Chase bank on the 15th of the month for the remainder of the three year term. Oh… and then you’ll have to give it back to the dealership.” On the flip side, I have some fairly strong opinions on what happens to my beautiful corpse when the time should come. I’m very opposed to the whole ‘Weekend at Bernie’s’ thing we do when someone passes away. I’m not a big fan of standing around staring at dead people… am I the only one who thinks that’s creepy? I don’t want anyone aside from the person who ultimately murders me and the coroner seeing me. I certainly don’t want some cosmetology drop-out painting my lips scarlet red, spackling my face and failing miserably at controlling my frizzy hair issues. Lord only knows how you people would dress me. My siblings have plenty of childhood torment to repay me for, and let’s face it I’d be a sitting duck. Strangely, I come from a Catholic family that completely embraces the open casket. That’s where you all come in. If it’s not too much trouble, I’ll need someone to print up this entry (preferably in color) immediately upon hearing that I kicked. Hell, tape it to my forehead if you must. I’d like to be promptly cremated and placed in a mayonnaise jar … NOT Miracle Whip. A Happy Hour should immediately follow. Simple, cheap and way less likely to inspire nightmares than an open casket. Don’t get too excited though, I plan on being around for a spell.

I hope there is some sort of afterlife, even though I’m a skeptic by nature. I’ll be honest, there’s a few of you that I’m really looking forward to haunting. The ‘Ghost Whisperer’ types will be rendered completely powerless because I won’t have any unresolved issues like all those punk-ass spirits usually do. Jennifer Love Hewitt can’t help you, friends. I’ll be operating solely on entertainment value. That would be the worst episode ever. “Umm…yeah thanks, but I’m well aware of where ‘the light’ is. I’m just hanging out screwing with people for fun, but thanks Toots.” With any luck, she’ll be able to direct me to Kevin’s. I have a feeling they’ll have beer there.

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1 Response to “When we die we go to kevin’s…”


  1. 1 hmmm
    December 11, 2010 at 3:46 am

    Please retract that I can’t end up at kevin’s. That’s a terrible place to look forward to. There probably won’t be toliet paper and I’ll have to laugh at the age old “free-basing a cat” jokes. Ahhh the torture…


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About the Broad

A humorous look at dating in your mid-thirties and the other hilarious things that happen around us on a daily basis.

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