I had to scoot down to the Pocket City, Dale Evans favorite berg, on Sunday evening to be there for a Monday morning meeting.
I woke in the early morning hours in a cold sweat. I rarely dream, but I just had a doozy. I dreamed I died in my sleep, in a hotel. Was it heart attack or stroke? I have no idea. I was looking down on my body lying in the bed, bowls empty, eyes staring at nothing in the far distance. I saw the maid come into the room and scream. She crossed herself and spoke Spanish to my corpse.
I know some things. I do not want to be buried with shoes or socks on. The Cubs will break my heart. Beef and noodles must be served with mashed potatoes. I do not want to die alone in a fucking Hampton Inn.
I'm not shrink, but I did stay at a Holiday Inn Express...
ReplyDelete"Beef and noodles must be served with mashed potatoes."
ReplyDeleteFukkin' A right, bro.
Yeah, yeah, but did you make the sale?! (Home office wants to know) heh
ReplyDeleteI want to die in my sleep like Grandpa did, not like the passengers in his car...
ReplyDeleteI want to die the old fashioned way. A bullet in the back of my head via a jealous husband or father, just as I'm hammering home the perfect downstroke and busting a load that a pinata couldn't match.
ReplyDelete