Just so we're all aware

[dwenius]

Dear friends, family, acquaintances, and political representatives,

If I am diagnosed by a capable team of medical doctors as in a "persistent vegetative state" with "no hope of any cognitive function,"
We're gonna PARTY IN THE HIZZOSPICE, BOYEEE!

Your instructions are as follows:

1. Rule #1: My life is to be extended until such time as I can claim sole title to the official world record as the oldest "living" human. Bring the boys from Guinness around and make sure there's a lot of press celebrating my "achievement." Hell, just to be on the safe side, why don't we say we'll keep my body going until I'm 135. If anybody else tops 130 in the interim, tack on an extra 5 years.


2. Set me up like Tim Finnegan: barrel of whiskey at my feet, bucket of porter at my head. Except make it stout.


3. Bring the noise. I want 5,000 watts of booming doof, minimum, all tight 18" subs and something stylish in a silk tweeter for the highs. I want the furniture in that room to be dancing, plus the plants, including myself. Set up some sort of weekly schedule (Goa, Dead show, something mixing Spiritualized with the Lords of Acid, etc.) and invite the orderlies in to shake it. I've noticed that people are usually all quiet and respectful around the dead. Fuck that , this might be the wake that lasts 40 years, and I expect y'all to gather around and raise the roof for the duration.


4. Bring me porn. I want a steady supply of wet, plot-laden, high-production value, gender-neutral obscenity scrolling by on a big plasma screen 24 by 7. If my dim, soulless eyes don't respond to the best that Private and Vivid have to offer, we'll just have to push it up a notch and install a stripper pole. Make sure to point my head the right direction so the girls don't feel like I'm ignoring them, and tip heavily.


5. Podcast. Every week, record a half hour of whatever noises I make, give it an obscure, pun-ridden 35 word title, and publish it on the net.


6. Publish. Every Sunday at noon, have someone time the intervals in between blinks. Using any suitable cipher, "translate" the result into a bulleted list. of words. Send them to McSweeny's with the title "A short list of largely inferred potential could-be thoughts, maybe."


7. Every full moon, spike my I.V. with some interesting form of contraband, alternating so I don't develop any tolerance.


8. Buy me a lotto ticket every week (random number selection). If I ever win, haul my ass to Vegas with a few dozen close friends and don't leave until everybody has at least six stories they'll never tell another human being. Then spend whatever is left on drugs and women.


9. Resuscitate, yo. I figure every one of you ought to have a chance to use those big electric shock mitts on me at least once. It'll be a story you can tell my great-great grandkids.


10. If my organs start to fail, put me on the donor list and install new ones. I'm eventually going to be an organ donor, but not until I'm dead, and that's when I'm 135, 'k? What, is there a law that you can't donate somebody else's organs?


11. Send the bills for all this stuff to President Bush, Tom DeLay, or their immediate heirs. <- as if there could be any doubt on this particular item, let me assure you, I am quite serious. Find a way, make it stick.

(This list goes to eleven.)

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I don't think I have anything new to add to the debate, but the hypocrisy is staggering, even for BushCo. Let's see:

• While Governor of Texas, Bush signed a bill allowing life support to be terminated if the person couldn't pay for it.


• Schiavo's care is coming from malpractice judgments and Medicaid, both of which Bush wants to at least curtail, at most eliminate. (attr: matrushkaka)


• Where were all these culture of life senators when we were voting to bomb Iraq? I guess what Bush meant to say is: "We should create a culture of life, unless it's brown life, or Islamic life, or life that just happens to be sitting on a little bucket of unrefined crude." Because 200 generations of DU-mutated Iraqi babies is a small price to pay for having access to what, maybe another 10 years worth of oil. Won't that be great? 100 years from now, when we're still patrolling the streets of Fallujah, the National Guard will be going up against RADIOACTIVE insurgents with THREE ARMS. Mother nature is perverse; the third arm will probably be long enough to let them reload their own rocket launcher without taking it off their shoulder. How you like evolution NOW, George?


• Where are all those "sanctity of marriage" people now? It's wrong and offensive, but I believe the legal definition of marriage STILL includes the bit where guardianship is transferred from the parents to the husband. So, this whinging, no matter how heartfelt, falls into the same category as grandparents claiming any sort of rights of access to/influence on grandchildren. Non sequitur; there are no rights there in the first place.


• I've heard this referred to as both "medical terrorism" and "judicial terrorism". What the fuck? So now I can't give money to the A.M.A.?

So right, then, this is all another horrible sham to divert attention away from inflation, the deficit, the religious theocracy in Iraq, the continued attacks on and deaths of servicemen, and all those other policy failures. Apparently Jacko's jerking isn't weighty enough to distract the reporters, never mind the populace. It's pretty much beyond disgusting, but the media just can't stop sucking on it. Fooey on the lot of 'em.

Ok I'm done now.

Comments

[matrushkaka.livejournal.com]

Heh, forwarded this to my mom. I have a living will with "DNR" orders and she is my legal guardian - she's promised to pull the plug - but I thought the above added a nice twist. ;)