Archive for November, 2007

A bedtime story by Sarah on painkillers…

Wednesday, November 7th, 2007

Every night is painkiller night, and what a fun house it is. At least in my head. This is me really high. Lets talk about llamas. They’re quite interesting creatures, probably would be more interesting if they were only a foot high, though. I wish I knew how to deal with all the crap there is to deal with. Furthermore, I would like to talk about how awesome my funeral is going to be.

For one, as you walk in, you will be handed a sheet of paper with the lyrics to a certain song. At some point during the festivities, a radio will be held up to a microphone playing said song. Everyone will be required to sing the song, and they must sing it with GUSTO, motherfuckers! No slackers allowed!!! The shittier you sing it, the more the song will be repeated, until everyone is singing it with fucking soul, niggaz!

I don’t want to be embalmed so it may be a closed casket, unless I can figure out a way around that because my cousin is really into the idea of painting my face for the occasion. She really wants to go to school to learn how to do movie make up and creature effects, so she could probably make me look even deader than I already am; and way cooler too. She was thinking something along the lines of weird zombie scabs and such all over my body. I’m thinking if there is dry ice in the coffin I will be ok un-embalmed.

Now we need some theatrics, someone with some pizazz… I was thinking that this guy might liven up the place, but it would be way cooler if we could somehow con Chris Angel into being there and levitate my body out of the coffin. I think that really would be the best way to go, but I’m not sure if he would agree to do it. We do have one thing on our side though, and that is that he is from Long Island, and seriously folks, these people just aren’t so bright, so I think we can figure out a way to convince.

I’d also like to be in charge of making really cool invitations. I plan on designing these and giving them to my cousin which she will send out upon my dying. I was thinking something with my head, a skeleton body, and arms outreached holding a giant tick in them. A single tear coming down my face with a cartoon spirochete in it that had a really exaggerated frowny face on it.

My cousin has been instructed to be a sort of MC for the night, and say everything as if it were an infomercial. Things like “ARE YOU TIRED OF FAMILY MEMBERS DYING OF LYME DISEASE? SICK OF CORPSES LEVITATING OUT THEIR COFFINS? THEN YOU’RE IN LUCK…” you know, things like that. It’s gonna be fucking hilarous.

At some point my cousin is also in charge of reading angry letters that are written to certain people that will probably be there, pretend that they were there for me all along, but really weren’t. I can’t wait for my ghostly presense to see this part, because it really will be quite the spectacle. I can’t wait for these fuckers (you know who you are) to be completely humiliated when they realise they are part of the spectacles of the night. I hope they storm out in anger but who knows what they will realy do; but whatever it is, everyone else is instructed to point, laugh, and possibly throw some sort of rotten frut at them.

There are also going to be bouncers at the door searching everyone for religios paraphanalia of any kind which is not allowed inside! You must bring that shizz back to your car or have it confiscated. I don’t want your god at my party, bitches!