Today I am 60 years old and am now officially an old man.
I am nothing less than totally astonished and there is one thing that I want to get straight with the world.
I can now die of anything I want and nobody can say squat about it because from this day forward my cause of death is to be listed as 'Old Age', period.
I can flip my Miata at 120 mph in a tight turn, there is heart disease, cancer, being shot by a jealous boyfriend, I can rot to death with leprosy. I am now free to do something like try and skydive out of the space shuttle and set a new record and not be killed doing so because it is going to be listed as OLD AGE.The possibilities are endless.
But no longer will a bunch of idiots be able to stand next to my casket and say, "Gee! What did he die of?" because now I will officially die of old age.
This is a pretty good deal when you think about it and I am absolutely astonished that I have actually become an old man. For quite a while the odds were pretty slim. I have spent quite a bit of my life as a fugitive from the law of averages.
Now that I am a bona fide fugitive from the law of averages, my friends and family are instructed that after I finally do croak they are to answer any nosy people that ask 'What did he die of?" by telling them that I died of OLD AGE. period!
I don't care of I leave the planet doing something truly epic like trying unsuccessfully jump the Snake River Canyon on a rocket-powered skateboard, the answer to "What did he die of?" is to be OLD AGE.
OK, you can say I died of an accident if it truly IS something epic like that, but under no other circumstances am I to given a cause of death by any other thing but Old Age. And you are not to describe it as an accident, either. You have to say something like 'he ate it while trying to jump the Snake River Canyon on a rocket powered skateboard' or whatever epic stunt I pulled that resulted in my demise.
Anything other than something like that and you had best list my cause of death as Old Age or I will come back to haunt you.
I have an inside source on the carrier John Stennis. He gave me the inside scoop on the burial at sea of Usama bin Laden. He told me they stopped all engines because when they buried him there was to be no wake.
History repeats itself. We are back to land mines again.
A couple of days ago I wanted to find a certain pipe buried in the yard so I snagged a $20 used metal detector off of Craigslist. It did the job and I found the pipe in a couple of minutes.
Of course I just had to do somehing human which is start seeing if Blackbeard buried his treasure in my yard so I was snooping around which is exactly what anyone else would do if they had just gotten a metal detector.
Enter Nebby Larry who just HAD to ask what I was doing. Of course I just HAD to answer him.
"I am hunting for land mines," I said.
"Yup. Land mines."
A few seconds later the thing started buzzing which is no surprise with the number of nails and things a yard contains after several remodels and 60 years of simply being occupied. I looked at Larry sharply.
"Stay here," I commanded.
I cut through the garage and made a quick check. Coffee cups, check. To go lids, check. Sugar and creamer, check. Then I ran upstairs and clicked on the coffeemaker. Besides, I had to give Larry a minute or two to dial 911 and make a fool out of himself again. On the way out I grabbed a bayonet and went back outside and went back to the scene of the crime to be committed.
I relocated the metal and on hands and knees I started probing with the bayonet.
"It's OK, Larry. I know how to do this. I read Sergeant Rock comic books as a kid."
"Oh, OK." he replied.
Of course, Larry is one of those people that have been well trained as how to deal with coming home at night and smelling gas when he opens the door. You do not turn on a light switch as the spark in the switch can ignite the gas and cause an explosion. Instead, to see where you are going you light a match.
Larry started looking and getting closer and pretty soon he was on HIS hands and knees with his head getting in the way looking for a mine.
The bayonet hit something. It might have been a rock but it was something.
"Get a wire gag," I ordered.
"A wire gag, a grenade pin, a safety offa a LAW or something. I need a piece of wire. Never mind, I'll get it." I got up and headed to the garage.
Of course, Larry just HAD to start poking around and prodding and there I was in the garage trying not to bust up and for the life of me wishing I had just one last cherry bomb and then being glad I didn't because as I wandered back out with a piece of wire a cruiser pulled up.
"Coffee's on," I said, conversationally and went upstairs and grabbed the pot.
When I got downstairs the cop was out of his cruiser and in my driveway where he lifted the lid of my trash can. "Just checking," he said.
"Waste of time. I generally leave them rolled up in a rug in the basement until late the night before the guys arrive to empty the trash," I answered. He shook his head, smiling.
"Speaking of trash, how you making out wih the new guys?" he asked. "I just chopped up an old coffee table and put it in the can and there was no problem."
"I suppose it's going to be OK. Some disassembly required." I replied.
The cop turned to Larry. "You can go, Sir. We'll handle it."
Larry got up and left.
"There is metal there," I said to the cop.
"Let's see what it is," he said.
He returned to the cruiser to watch.
"Aren't you going to get down on your hands and knees to pore over a suspected land mine?" I grinned.
"I'm not a Dawrin candidate. Besides it's too blustery." he said.
"I'll have you know I know what I am doing," I said, in an uppity tone. "I read Sergeant Rock comic books as a kid."
I got down and dug the piece out of the ground in a couple of seconds. It was a rotten piece of rebar, about four inches long.
"Thanks for the coffee," he said and drove off.
my other blog is: http://officerpiccolo.blogspot.com/ http://piccolosbutler.blogspot.com/