Aug 19, 2004 12:42
Continuing, of course, with the theme of certain death that I seem to have brought upon this journal, I made the decision to inform all of you about a place no doubt most of you will end up: The Funeral Home. That is, of course, assuming you're not taken out into Death Valley, shot in the head and then having your carcass burned by the Iranian Mafia. I reckon funeral homes may be the least of your problems if this happens.
Katrina's hellbent on hiring a team of professionals for the moment of my death. The both of us are still quite sure it will be untimely but I'm convinced she's worrying much more than she needs to. I'm hoping said demise will be painless and peaceful, but in all probability, it will end up being the opposite. My life is indeed shrouded in irony.
As I was saying, Kat accompanied me to a funeral home the other day and we had the rare and strange privilege of seeing an embalming lab later on. Something I've always wondered about funeral homes is what exactly the proprietors are hiding upstairs. Well, it is most certainly not a carnation garden.
I'm home now, with the olives and a fire extinguisher. The weather's become warmer, which, in turn, forces me to clutch the extinguisher a little tighter each day.