In the words of Jerry Seinfeld: According to most studies, people’s number one fear is public speaking. Number two is death. Death is number two! Does that sound right? This means to the average person, if you go to a funeral, you’re better off in the casket than doing the eulogy.
Dear friends and family,
I am writing you this letter because I’m either very clumsy, or have really bad luck—maybe both. I’ve had two near drowning experience, three car accidents, an appendix burst, a few uncommon flues and infections, and let’s not forget the not one, but two, softballs to the face. One of which resulting in a broken nose, a few dead nerves, and an agonizing concussion. I’m an accident waiting to happen!
The last time you probably saw me, you bet me I couldn’t wrestle that ‘gator. You’re welcome. I proved you right.
If I died in a skydiving accident: I told you with my luck my chute wouldn’t open.
If I was murdered: The guy I’m stalking finally figured me out. I probably deserved it.
If it was heroin: I was already near death and had to give it a try. I’m sure it was awesome.
I would like to donate my organs to my family and not some sick child. I have O-negative blood and you can make a killing on the black market (or just find some rich and dying dick-hole). . . This is my apology for leaving you my overwhelming credit card dept.
My spirit however will always be with you—most likely scaring the shit out of you, and pulling hilarious pranks.
Please do the Weekend at Bernie’s thing and take my dead corps out for one last hurrah—and use cheesy Schwarzenegger lines like “She’s dead tired.” HAHA. Capture the moment and tag me as much as possible. Then apologize to my mother.
Please also tell Arnold Schwarzenegger it’s his loss for not wanting to adopt me! I’m tired of sending him letters.
To whomever writing my eulogy,
You can say I escaped death on a few occasions and that you can’t believe I’ve survived this long. You may also want to douse my casket in gasoline, stick a wooden stake through my heart, and light me on fire, just in case (plus it would be kind of bad-ass).
Skip the nice speech! I’m not rich, proud, or successful. I’m not particularly attractive or smart. Nor am I particularly well-liked or hygienic. I guess what I’m trying to say is: Get drunk, eat cake, and ‘cheers’ to my average life!
LOVE YOU ALL
Photo Credit and fellow blogger:
How To Get A Death Certificate