Enter the mid-life (36 years)
Hey, guess who I’m officially three days older than now: Wu Tang Clan member Ol’ Dirty Bastard. It kind of raises the question of why they called him “Ol’ ” anyway. Two days short of your thirty-sixth birthday isn’t that old. Maybe “Ol’ was really short for “Olfactorily offensive.” After all, the man was dirty. And just think about how much more he must stink now after rotting in the ground for the last five years. Enjoy your dirt nap, Dirt McGirt! Say hi to Jesus for me, Big Baby Jesus!
Oh, you thought I was cocky last year when I was telling off cosmonaut Yuri Gagarin for basically being human garbage for not living to be as old as me? Well, now I’ve also outlived such notable aviators as Challenger astronaut Ronald McNair, professional wrestler “Flyin’ ” Brian Pillman, and blues guitarist Stevie Ray Vaughan. I guess that, in that dense fog, Vaughan’s helicopter pilot couldn’t stand the weather.
I know that after that one, you people are just waiting for me to say something about Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart decomposing. But I’ll refrain (even though I could use that joke on Rent composer Jonathan Larson). I’ve used that one before. And the man has been dead for 219 years. He probably isn’t actually decomposing now. He’s got to be basically gone (like recurring Shakespearean character King Henry V). Congratulations, Salieri. You win.
Me too. I win at being alive. Not like you, divorcée Nicole Brown Simpson. I am basically the Heisman Trophy winner of Being Alive Past Thirty-Five.
And I’m not done. Man, I am just going to live so long. Longer than the necks of the figures painted by artist Amedeo Modigliani. Longer than the many home runs socked by Negro League slugger Josh Gibson. Longer than the tall, lanky frame of Predator alien Kevin Peter Hall. You know what they say, Kevin Peter Hall — if it bleeds, we can kill it. I guess they meant “if it bleeds, we can give it an HIV-contaminated blood transfusion and kill it with pneumonia.”
Oh, I bet you didn’t like that, did you? You didn’t complain about me outliving communist spy Julius Rosenberg, conspirator Guy Fawkes, or serial killer H.H. Holmes, which I totally did. Look at you, with your protesting. But now you’re a regular protest singer, a real Phil Ochs. Well, Phil Ochs, here’s something to protest about: You ain’t livin’ anymore.
Neither are you, bounty hunter Domino Harvey! You know, Boba Fett survived a thousand years of painful digestion by the sarlacc dwelling in the Great Pit of Carkoon. You couldn’t even survive thirty-five years, a bottle of painkillers and a terrible movie about your life.
And look at you, Meriwether Lewis, with your overdosing on whiskey and self-inflicted gunshots. You had to go and be an explorer, when Lewis and Clark could have been one of the great comedy double acts. Maybe you could team up in the afterlife with Rat Pack scion and Misfits of Science actor Dean Paul Martin. (And I just have to note how incredible it is that I surpassed two Misfits of Science this year, since Kevin Peter Hall was on the show too; Courteney Cox, I’m coming for you.) Yes, Martin and Lewis — has a nice ring to it. You could be comedy legends in heaven, right up there with Andy Kaufman, whom I’ve also outlived. Unless Andy Kaufman is, as rumored, still down here faking his death. In that case, I haven’t outlived him yet. It’s so hard to tell.
But, speaking of misfits of science, I do know I’ve outlived quintuplet Marie Dionne! One down, four to go!
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