Listen, Jesus

Strange week.

I worked the Death Shift yesterday - 7:30 - 4:00. Got today off for Veterans Day. Working the Death Shift tomorrow.

A roller coaster ride sure as shit.

But I am here today. Feeling peaceable.

Thinking about cleansing my soul and offering it up to Jesus. Kind of like a trial run.

"What do you think about that, Big Guy?"

"Joe - you got a lot more work to do before you can even think about joining the pure souls who surround me. If I let you in here now you'd have these sanctified spirits drinking whiskey and shooting craps within an hour."

Story of my life.

I eat broccoli, limit whiskey consumption to 8 ounces a day, do a couple of pushups, stop cursing and what do I get? Rebuffed.

I should take up smoking. What do I have to lose? I am 67 - how long does it take to get lung cancer? I would look cool. Learn how to blow smoke rings, light a wooden match off my beard. People would gravitate to me and offer me money. I'd get rich. And retire.

Sounds like a plan.

'Cept for Carol. She would not let me smoke in the house. My face pressed to the glass of our pretty French doors on January 8 in -13 degree weather. Undignified.

In fact if I took up smoking she'd probably just kill me. She would put up a fierce fight, that's for goddamn sure.

That and guns. She always tells me she will not allow me to own a gun.

Allow me?

If I want a gun I will buy a gun. It has been in the back of my mind for years now. The ultimate escape hatch. If I get to the point where my sons have to wipe my ass, a bullet to the brain is the perfect panacea.

Quick Aside: I loved Hunter S. Thompson, but I despised the circumstances in which he killed himself. I have no problem with him committing suicide - sometimes it just makes sense. But he shot himself in his own home with his son, daughter-in-law, and grandson in the house. And he was on the phone with his wife when he cocked the gun.

Are you fucking kidding me? That is just fucking mean and cold-hearted in a calculated way.

His son discovered the body. Hunter shot himself in the head so I imagine the death scene was not pretty.

I would never do it at home. It would be in the woods somewhere pretty and private. In my Hyundai. I would not mind spraying blood all over my Hyundai because I should be driving a Lincoln anyway.

I have no suicidal thoughts. I am merely fascinated by the subject as morbid entertainment.

It appears I have veered off track here. Way off track.

Listen Jesus, just cut me some fucking slack. I have done some stupid and dangerous things in my life; pissed a lot of opportunities away, and generally not exactly been a saint.

But I'm a good guy and fun to be with. You would enjoy having a beer with me.

Consider that in the final moments when you calculate my pluses and minuses.

And remember - I was an accountant.

Just in case you need any help calculating the final reckoning.