It's Gonna Be The End You See, It's Gonna Be The Death of Me

It is late on a Friday night and here I am posting a post on my blog. It is also over a long holiday weekend so I doubt this post will get much play anyway. If that does not define "loser" I really don't know what does. Unless you are doing the same thing, which just means there are two of us. So...hey how ya doin'?

There has been some thinking going on in my brain this week. My two brain cells met up for brunch, talked about the weather, then vigorously rubbed against each other to create enough heat in order for a couple of neurons to hop across my synapse. It is an interesting organism, that brain. Just when you think you have things figured out it chugs back to life like a smoking Model T so it can reveal just how ignorant I really am.

After some violent popping of cylinders the brain quiets down and the two brain cells go back into hibernation. Only then is the ultimate culprit in this strenuous game of tic tac toe revealed: feelings.

Last weekend the wife of a very good friend passed away due to a valiant fight with cancer. They always use the term 'valiant' don't they? I don't believe I have ever read an obituary wherein it stated, "So-and-so whimpered out and ran away from cancer until it caught up to him and gave him severe noogies. He finally cried for mercy like a little boy lost in the feminine hygiene aisle of Costco." No, I have never seen that. It is always 'valiant'. It was valiant in the case of this very good friend.

If I was ever face to face with the angel of death I have pictured myself screaming obscenities to him about his bony mother. The spittle that was once resting comfortably in my mouth would drip down his skully face. After belittling him with my taunts I would then take his scythe and proceed to give him one helluva vasectomy. Finally I would turn him around and push him over the edge of a very tall cliff onto the jagged rocks below.

Of course, the angel of death could not die. I don't even think he gets pissed. His whole purpose is to snuff out the lives of people. I guess that is a lot control and not worthy to get stressed when some moron like me spits in his face. He probably will just give me a sly smile and a warm giggle then put his arm around me and say, "Come on AB, it is going to be ok...really."

With that thought in mind, including the events of this last week, everything will be ok...really.