In the Future, You Will Legally Have to Act Out Everything You See on Porn Sites: The Comedian's Obituary

Attention, future-people:

If you are reading this, I am dead. I died on (DATE) of (THING). I was either surrounded by loved ones or a bunch of weird pornographic publications.

If the thing I died of is one of those things that people hold fundraisers for, please leave me out of it. I think fundraisers are great, but as soon as someone figures out the password on my computer and sees my search history, you're not going to want my name associated with whatever it is you're trying to cure. It won't help. People who made donations years ago will probably ask for them back.

If the thing I died of is hilarious, please make horrible jokes about it. That's what I would have done if you died before I did.

If the thing I died from is NOT hilarious, please make fun of how lamely I died.

Since Viking Funerals are illegal, I want my body to go to one of those body farms where they bury carcasses in a field and teach dogs how to sniff them out. Before you bury me, though, please have someone dressed as David Caruso from 'CSI: Miami' stand over my body and say a not-very-clever quip while putting sunglasses on. Then kick him in the balls and tell him his mother was never proud of anything he did. Don't tell him you're going to do it, though -- I want it to be a surprise.

In lieu of everything, please don't do anything. Y'all did enough while I was here, and there's no reason for you to do a bunch of stuff that I'm not around for anyway. Go home, have a beer, and watch TV (or consume media in whatever way you future-people consume media.) I hope 'William Shatner's: Weird or What?' is still on. That's a great show.

Before you get on whatever social media you future-people use now to tell everyone how I was your best-good friend, please don't. At the time of this writing, there are about nine people on this planet who have any business doing that, and none of them are going to do that because they're not lame. I don't believe in ghosts, but if I'm wrong, I will come back and haunt the ever-loving shit out of you. It won't be one of those movie-hauntings than ends when the short lady with the munchkin voice comes and does stuff and then Carol Anne isn't inside the TV anymore and Coach from 'Coach' is all happy because his family is saved. It will be one of those hauntings that ends with you standing with your face in the corner in a dirty basement right before the witch eats you. 

I'm not religious, so please don't do any religious stuff unless it makes you feel better. In which case, have at 'er. 

I would like a headstone, and I want it to read "I'm right behind you" in teeny tiny letters so people have to get really close to read it. Hide one of those Hallowe'en doormats that screams when someone steps on it under some astroturf right in front of the headstone. Set up a video camera nearby.

That's all I got.  And now that it's in writing AND on the Internet, you legally have to do everything you just read. That's not the way the law works as I write this, but I'm pretty sure in the future when you read this, that's exactly how the law will work. Anything you see or read online, you have to do. So you might want to stay off the really weird porn sites.

x   x

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(That little dude with the x-eyes above this sentence is me, dead.)

Drowned Squirrels, Porn*, and Grocery Tetris: Why My Uterus Should Not Matter to You

Sometimes I really want yogurt, but I also don't want to move my jaw very much. So I buy that liquid-drinkable-yogurt that is probably mostly poison. A recent trip to the grocery store that included the purchase of the poison yogurt drink led to a discussion about my uterus. Sort of.

                                                                SCENE

The Comedian approaches checkout, places items on conveyor belt that always smells like onions and usually has hair stuck to it. The Comedian plays Grocery Tetris while Old Lady in front of her tries to remember how Interac works. (For the uninitiated, Grocery Tetris is an important game I play where I place all of my groceries in as little space as possible. If I don't do that, something horrible will happen, similar to how horrible things will happen if I buy even numbers of things or don't lock my car doors three times in a row.)

Old Lady finally remembers four numbers, leaves with Ensure and every prune in the store.


CASHIER: How are you today?

THE COMEDIAN: Fine, thanks. How are you?

CASHIER: It's Friday!

***THE COMEDIAN does not kill woman for answering question with unrelated answer***

CASHIER: (scans poison yogurt drink) Getting this for the kids?

THE COMEDIAN: Nope. They're for me. I don't have any kids.

***THE COMEDIAN immediately realizes she has made a horrible mistake***

CASHIER: Oh well! There's still time!


The rest of the conversation is unimportant. I also don't remember most of it, because I was thinking of really shitty things to say to the cashier. Most of them involved how she could fuck right off.

Before I get the usual WHY DO YOU HATE KIDS?????? comments -- I don't. I like them just fine. I like lots of things. Horses. Swimming pools. Porn. But I don't want horses or swimming pools. I do not want to be responsible for keeping them alive or getting drowned squirrels out of them. I like horses and swimming pools better when they are other people's horses and swimming pools. And I like kids better when they are other people's kids.

What pisses me off THE ABSOLUTE MOST is when people act like my life is missing something because I don't have kids. I guess technically they're right -- my life is missing the unhappiness I would feel if I had kids. Luckily, my life is also missing the unhappiness my non-existent kids would have if I had kids. Again -- I have no problem whatsoever with the existence of children. I know several children that I like an awful lot. I. Just. Don't. Want. To. Have. Any. And I'm sick as fuck of people who push their noses up my ass about it.

How about we try something COMPLETELY FUCKED UP and assume that I'm living my life the way I want to, and that I'm perfectly happy with it? I don't have kids ON PURPOSE. I live by myself ON PURPOSE. I don't spend five hours ripping three eyebrow hairs out of my face to attract guys ON PURPOSE. (Side note: guys don't actually give a shit about your eyebrows really. As long as you have two of them and they're more or less in about the same place on either side of your face, you're good to go.)

Perhaps those pushy, nosy shits could take a page from my mother's book. My mother is the one person who, as far as I'm concerned, is actually allowed to pick apart my life and try to move the pieces around to make it better.....but she doesn't do that, because she is not an asshole. Here, as far as I can tell, is my mom's thought process when it comes to my life:

1. Is Daughter alive? Yes.
2. Is Daughter in jail today? No.
3. Does Daughter have tattoo on face? No.

Conclusion: Daughter is fine. Leave Daughter alone.


(*Perhaps be concerned that Daughter is apparently too lazy to chew yogurt.)



*I put PORN in the title because most of the people I know like things better if there's porn.
~~~~~~~~~~~~

Why I Keep Bugging You to Give Me Money

Well, not ME, exactly. The money isn't for me. The money is for Greg, and for Grady.

In December, 2012, my friend Greg died after fighting cancer for three years.

In June, 2013, his son Grady was born.

Grady won't ever meet his dad. He didn't get the chance to know his dad while he was in this world, but I did. Greg's family did. Greg's friends did. A lot of what Grady learns about his dad he will learn from us.

One of the things I want Grady to know about his dad is that Greg had an incredible way of bringing people together. Whether it was a bar on a Friday night after work (and then the following Saturday night....and sometimes the Sunday night) or a charity run on a hot Sunday afternoon in June, Greg could get people to come together. I didn't fully understand that until Greg got sick, and the coming-together became less frequent. He was a force that drew people together, and that is rare.

I want Grady to know that.

I want Grady to know that his father left such a mark on the people around him, that we kept doing something he really wanted us to do -- even after he was gone. We kept running on that one day every year that Grady won't get to celebrate the same way many of us do. I get to call my dad on Fathers' Day. I get to buy him a present. Grady doesn't get to do that.

What he DOES get to do on Fathers's Day -- and what I hope he gets to do every year -- is see a group of people wearing T-shirts with his dad's nickname printed on them, running because Greg asked us to. Raising money to help fight cancer because Greg asked us to.

I miss my friend. I don't want other people to miss their friends. I don't want other little boys to grow up without their daddies. If we keep doing this -- and if people keep donating -- then maybe Grady will grow up knowing that because of his dad, someone still gets to go out for a beer with their friends on Friday night (and Saturday.....and sometimes Sunday). Grady will be able to say that because of his dad, another little boy's dad is still with him.

So that's why for the next month, I'll be asking over and over and over for money. If Grady can't have his dad here physically with him, then I'd like to make sure he gets to see that his dad helped change the world.

If you'd like to make a donation to Team Greggybear, you can do it here: Donate to Team Greggybear