Dead people are a bunch of chumps


The older I get, the more I look out over the graveyard and see a bunch of complete chumps. Today, I am thirty-seven years old and alive, two things that neither Marilyn Monroe nor Princess Di will ever be. If that means Elton John won’t ever rewrite “Candle in the Wind” to celebrate my life and death, so be it. Because it seems to me I’ve lived my life like a boss.

You know who else won’t be eulogizing me in song? Bob Marley, G.G. Allin, Thin Lizzy singer Phil Lynott, or DJ AM. Neither will rockabilly pioneer Gene Vincent. Be-bop-a-lula, you are dead now.

“Hey, ‘Blind’ Lemon Jefferson, why are there quotation marks around only the first word in your name? What? “Lemon” isn’t a nickname at all, but in fact, your given Christian name? Wow, it must really suck to be named Lemon. And to be blind. And dead.” That is a conversation I will never have with blues legend “Blind” Lemon Jefferson, because his very lifeblood was long ago squeezed out of him and ran down his leg.

What’s this, Cyrano de Bergerac? Your nose was too long? What’s that, Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec? Your body was too short? Well, mes amis, no need for dueling or absinthe, for no longer are you mocked for your physical imperfections. Wait, is not being alive a physical imperfection? Zut alors! Oui!

And speaking of physical imperfections, I have some questions for Umaga, the Samoan Bulldozer: You were 350 pounds at the time of your death and still taking  growth hormone? How big were you trying to get? Big enough that they had to Samoan bulldoze you right into a piano crate to be buried? Because that’s what happened (I assume).

I’ve outlived both hockey player “Bad” Joe Hall and labour activist Joe Hill? Wow, if I’d been named Joe Hull, Hell, or Holl, I might be dead right now. I really dodged a bullet there. And you know who else dodged a lot of bullets? General George Armstrong Custer and O.K. Corral gunfighter “Doc” Holliday. Too bad they couldn’t dodge arrows and tuberculosis too.

Know who else died at the same age, which is younger than me? Poet Lord Byron and his daughter, computer pioneer Ada Lovelace. Good thing, too. Considering the way Byron got it on with his own sister, you just know that if he were alive today, he’d be sexting his own daughter. She walks in beauty, like the night, Daddy’s girl is oh so tight LOL. OMG, you are gross, Lord Byron.

And as for you, Steve McNair … well, I actually hate to say anything bad about you, since you’re basically the Phil Hartman of the NFL, except that you were killed by your mistress rather than your wife. So, as for you, multiple murderer/organ donor Gary Gilmore, damn your eyes! And you, Lindbergh baby kidnapper Bruno Hauptmann, how dare you murder the child of America’s most beloved Nazi sympathizer?

Jeez, when you put it like that, who’s to say who’s right and who’s wrong? But I do know who’s dead and who’s alive: a bunch of chumps, and me. Suck it, chumps!

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