“Good-bye my Friends part 2”

Being dead sucks. It’s so unfair. Talk about a jip. It’s not all that much different than being alive, except that you’re not in your physical form, therefore lacking physical sensations. I’ll never get to taste a steak again or for that matter, a pint of Stella Atrois or fuck it, a pint of Haagan Daz Vannila Swiss Almond. I’ll never enjoy another orgasm again or the feel of my dick in a nice, tight, wet vagina. The only good thing is that I’ll never feel pain again, but I never minded physical pain much. What I did mind was emotional pain and that doesn’t go away when you die. It’s part of a package deal with your spirit. How fucked is that? So here I am, dead as a nail, never to eat another hamburger again or recieve an excellent blowjob but I have to linger around, depressed. Who ever made this system up, really knew how to fuck people of their mojo.

Here I am stuck on Saint Nicholas Avenue. My killer ran into 182nd street towards Wadsworth. I couldn’t bother to investigate any further. It’s not like I could do anything about it anyway. Yeah, I’m a ghost, but I’m not like a ghost in the movies where I can haunt his ass and drive him crazy. You see, there’s no glory in this death shit whatsoever. It’s better to stay alive as long as possible. Even an 80 year old man can pay a prostitute to play with his balls or something. Me… nothing and I really do mean nothing.

It’s amazing how many people have walked past my corpse, stared at it and kept on walking. It’s been 45 minutes since my death and I’m, er..my body is still laying there. Ugly as fuck too. I don’t make a very good looking dead person. Having my brains blown out doesn’t help. I wonder how are my friends going to find out about this? Poor Odette. She’ll probably take it the worst. I can see her crying for weeks now. Isaac will definitely be extremely upset. Eddie too. Everybody else, I think they’ll get over it pretty quick. At least I’ve left most people an arsenal of funny stories to get a good laugh off of.

I can see Eddie now telling Andy or Shey about the time we snuck into High Bridge pool at night and I smoked angel dust and was convinced I was drowning in the wading section of the pool.

When you die, you don’t get a “how to” manual to tell you what to do, but somehow you know what’s up. I could linger around, loitering like an asshole and hope that I come across someone or something being born and reincarnate myself into that physical form and then I wouldn’t be so bored. Maybe I should go to Central Park and look for a bird’s nest and come back as a bird. With my luck, I’ll probably pick a pigeon’s nest, mistaking it for something glorious like a hawk’s nest. That wouldn’t be so hot.

The other thing I could do is choose somebody to protect over. I mean there’s only so much protecting I can do, but I can warn them of any potential danger that lies ahead. I know just who I would want to protect. Odette. That means I would have to see her fucking other dudes. What the hell? I’ve never been the jealous type. Doesn’t make sense to start now?

Posted on February 11, 2008 at 04:28 PM   |   Previous Entry   |   Next Entry   |   Entry List   |   Email Entry   |    Digg

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