24 Hours To Live
NOTE: Of all the many, varied, too-personal, borderline-offensive questions that I get asked by my readers on a daily (sometimes hourly) basis, the one that most frequently comes up is this: "Goddamn, C-dog, your ass is so fine, you could dance in the background of a rap video. How'd you get so thick back there, gurl?" Well, sadly, I can't answer that question... some things, a guy's just got to keep to himself. Though I am an oddly-pleasant combination of freaked out and flattered, don't get me wrong. However, since I won't answer the most-asked question in ZFS! history, I think it's only fair that I answer the 2nd most-asked question that seems to be on all of your minds. And that questions is...
Hey C-dog, What Would You Do If You Only Had 24 Hours To Live
Good question, readers! And not creepy at all... which... um... what, do I not turn you on anymore? I mean, a guy likes a *little* bit of sexual harassment, am I right? I'm just saying that it'd be nice to feel appreciated as a piece of meat every once in a while. Jerks.
But anyway, how would I spend my last 24 hours on Earth? Let me break it down for you.
Hours 1-11: Sleep late.
Hour 12: Eat twenty packages of bacon, washed down with pint glass after pint glass of the finest whiskey that I can find in whatever liquor store happens to be closest. If there isn't a liquor store nearby, I'll just drink whatever I can find under the sink that looks tempting.
Hour 13: A nice BM, followed by a hot shower during which I'll reflect on all the good times I've had having BMs and hot showers in my life.
Hour 14: Another package of bacon, this one washed down with some Dr. Pepper (for energy) and a delicious, wholesome glass of milk. Okay, maybe a little more of whatever was in that aerosol can I found. Pledge, is it? Ah, Pledge is tasty.
Hour 15: Listen to the entire "White Album" by the Beatles. Except for that one song that's got Yoko shrieking in the background. Like I need to listen to that right before I die. Please.
Hour 16: Another BM (all that bacon, ya know).
Hour 17: Grant an audience with all my legions of friends, family, and assorted fans. Listen patiently while they tearfully recount all the many ways I've touched their lives, hearts, and bank accounts without their knowledge. Another spray of Pledge, just to keep me "on" in front of company.
Hour 18: Quick power-nap, followed by a few rounds of Tetris.
Hour 19: Getting pretty close to the end now. Need to make everything count... might want to leave the apartment. A couple of more sprays of Pledge, and I'm off, out into the great, bustling city of New York!!!
Hour 20: Wait on the fucking R train. Should have gone out during peak-hours, because this is really cutting into my excursion time.
Hour 21: Titty bar.
Hour 22: Thrown out of titty bar for accidentally spraying one of the dancers in the face with Pledge. Wander around the city for a little bit, looking for a hot dog stand.
Hour 23: Find hot dog stand. Eat all the hot dogs. Contemplate my impending death as I slather on the mustard. Well, I think, this is it. Been a good ride. Had some laughs, gave people the overwhelming joy of knowing the goodness and the glory that is me... yep, life has been sweet. I'm ready to go.
Hour 24: Cry, gnash my teeth, beg for a few hours more, poop myself, claw at the pants leg of the hot dog vendor as I plead with him to help me. He refuses, so I give him twenty bucks to let me borrow his hat so I can sneak back into the titty bar.
Hour 25: Head explodes, spattering the same dancer that I'd previously gotten with the Pledge. Irony!
Hey C-dog, What Would You Do If You Only Had 24 Hours To Live
Good question, readers! And not creepy at all... which... um... what, do I not turn you on anymore? I mean, a guy likes a *little* bit of sexual harassment, am I right? I'm just saying that it'd be nice to feel appreciated as a piece of meat every once in a while. Jerks.
But anyway, how would I spend my last 24 hours on Earth? Let me break it down for you.
Hours 1-11: Sleep late.
Hour 12: Eat twenty packages of bacon, washed down with pint glass after pint glass of the finest whiskey that I can find in whatever liquor store happens to be closest. If there isn't a liquor store nearby, I'll just drink whatever I can find under the sink that looks tempting.
Hour 13: A nice BM, followed by a hot shower during which I'll reflect on all the good times I've had having BMs and hot showers in my life.
Hour 14: Another package of bacon, this one washed down with some Dr. Pepper (for energy) and a delicious, wholesome glass of milk. Okay, maybe a little more of whatever was in that aerosol can I found. Pledge, is it? Ah, Pledge is tasty.
Hour 15: Listen to the entire "White Album" by the Beatles. Except for that one song that's got Yoko shrieking in the background. Like I need to listen to that right before I die. Please.
Hour 16: Another BM (all that bacon, ya know).
Hour 17: Grant an audience with all my legions of friends, family, and assorted fans. Listen patiently while they tearfully recount all the many ways I've touched their lives, hearts, and bank accounts without their knowledge. Another spray of Pledge, just to keep me "on" in front of company.
Hour 18: Quick power-nap, followed by a few rounds of Tetris.
Hour 19: Getting pretty close to the end now. Need to make everything count... might want to leave the apartment. A couple of more sprays of Pledge, and I'm off, out into the great, bustling city of New York!!!
Hour 20: Wait on the fucking R train. Should have gone out during peak-hours, because this is really cutting into my excursion time.
Hour 21: Titty bar.
Hour 22: Thrown out of titty bar for accidentally spraying one of the dancers in the face with Pledge. Wander around the city for a little bit, looking for a hot dog stand.
Hour 23: Find hot dog stand. Eat all the hot dogs. Contemplate my impending death as I slather on the mustard. Well, I think, this is it. Been a good ride. Had some laughs, gave people the overwhelming joy of knowing the goodness and the glory that is me... yep, life has been sweet. I'm ready to go.
Hour 24: Cry, gnash my teeth, beg for a few hours more, poop myself, claw at the pants leg of the hot dog vendor as I plead with him to help me. He refuses, so I give him twenty bucks to let me borrow his hat so I can sneak back into the titty bar.
Hour 25: Head explodes, spattering the same dancer that I'd previously gotten with the Pledge. Irony!
posted by Clinton at 8:26 AM
9 Comments:
I don't really ever comment on here, but I had to tell you that the all the stuff with the Pledge just about killed me. Why aren't you funny for money?
-Nancy
Obviously you have this day well planned out and it's really not my place to make suggestions but, why not hire the hot dog vendor to follow you around all day? Just a thought.
Yes, and he could probably manage a side of bacon whilst doing the dogs.
I feel like this day lacks sex. Sex with bacon.
This is like the plot for a tragic movie.
Yes, sex is needed. Also, I'd need some Kraft Macaroni and Cheese Spirals, a pint of fresh Guinness, a steak burrito, a spicy shrimp tempura roll, a couple sliders, hot wings, sex again (but this time with myself), another Guinness, some oreos, and Sour Cream and cheddar chips.
And I'd like to watch that scene where Zack and Kelly break up on the night of the prom from Saved by the Bell on last time too. Oh, and I'd like to arm wrestle Jesus.
I assumed you had rubbed one off in the shower, thereby eliminating the need for sex.
Besides, bringing a girl into your Final Hours would just muck it all up.
I hope everything is going well with your family -I have to admit though, I'm kind of glad you're taking a quick blog break, since I really really REALLY need to catch up on some of your posts. You're quite the blogging machine.
And with all complete and sincere honesty, this was one of the funniest things I have a read in a long time!
I'm so thankful that I stumbled upon ZFS!
iieee... Thanks, yo. I'm also, for the record, a dancing machine.
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