To Those Left Behind,
As I write this letter, I am imagining several different scenarios on how I will un-glamorously meet my untimely death this weekend. I am almost certain all of them involve me and cross-country skiing. I really should have kept my mouth shut when I was asked if I wanted to go or if I even knew how to cross-country ski. I believe after watching three instructional videos on the “Internets” I am prepared to take on this challenge.
Maybe I did really well with the whole skiing part, but when our group stopped for a break near a small stream and I felt like I wanted to be adventurous, so I drank a small amount of fresh mountain water right from the stream, not knowing there was the rotting remains of a deer just a short ways upstream, which caused me to get some rare, dead rotting deer illness which was characterized by incredibly painful diarrhea and also quickly shut down all my major organs. Or perhaps while cross-country skiing I got separated from the others and was captured by some inbred wilderness people who live in weird little huts and have one-eyed, three legged kids running around calling me “Supa.” Maybe year’s later explorers will happen upon these wilderness people and find one of their weird little kids wearing my skin as a coat, which will finally put to rest the mystery of what happened to me.
But for the purposes of this letter, let’s look at a more likely scenario of my untimely demise. I was eaten alive by a hungry mountain lion. The others in my cross-country skiing party will ski away to safety probably making little to no effort in saving me.
Hopefully some justice will be served, in that Fish and Game will hunt down and dispatch this man eater. Although it would have been nice if they would have done that well before I went skiing, but that’s neither here nor there. I’m not sure what the rule is when Fish and Game kill a lion, would my estate be entitled to its carcass? After all this man eater does contain what’s left of me in its belly so it only seems fair that my estate gets the hide. So if this is the case, I would like the hide to be given to my gym where I spent most of my time, hopefully they can hang it on the wall as a memorial or maybe even cut the hide up into cleaning rags so people can use them to wipe down the machines. I would like that.
To my dear friend who invited me out on this cross-country ski trip. I hope right now you are feeling incredibly guilty. You basically killed me, even if I died by being eaten alive by a mountain lion or by wilderness people, it’s still your fault. Others will probably tell you not to blame yourself, well they are wrong, you should blame yourself. I can only hope you now die of a guilt stroke. Or better yet break your neck cross-country skiing.
To my real dear friend, the one who told me not to go cross-country skiing because it’s dumb. I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you, and in hindsight I would have to agree with you now, it is dumb! So to you my friend I leave my special possessions, one box of 5.56 ammo, my silverware that you liked (it’s not really “silver” by the way) and approximately $630 of nearly brand new cross-country ski equipment…Have Fun.
To my loving family: Your constant reminders of “One day you are going to do something stupid and get eaten by a lion” have been duly noted.
To all my friends at the gym: Enjoy the mountain lion hide and remember there are no rest days!
To the people of Walmart: Thank you for all the years of entertainment.
And, lastly, to all my ex’s. I’m sure your feeling pretty happy right now, perhaps you are out celebrating at the bar together, drinking some cheap wine and crappy craft beer. Maybe you made up a little drinking song “The asshole is in the belly of the cat …Hooray Hooray” No worries, I would probably celebrate as well if you were viciously mauled and then eaten by a deadly predator. So cheers, enjoy those cheap ass drinks. Keep in mind, they probably didn’t find my body. For all you know I could just be waiting for the right opportunity to swoop down from the wilderness with my loyal army of inbred wilderness freaks. So one night you might hear off in the distance the sound of banjos and inbred laughter, that’s my army, my wilderness people, coming to town looking for brides…Yee Haw!