You know that book you wrote years ago, the one about going off to college and then coming home for Thanksgiving and then going back to college? Yeah, that one. Still have the manuscript lying around somewhere? Great. Find that sucker and burn it!
Why? You’ve got to be kidding me! Where have you freaking been for the last week? Never mind, just find the only extant copy of Go Tell It On the Bar Stool, the one you typed on a manual Smith-Corona your parents gave you when you graduated from high school because, well, all typewriters were manual back then so what choice did they have.
Yeah, I know, you kept it for sentimental value, because you might want to read it again some day. Except you never have and trust me on this, the thing is a ticking bomb. Find…and…destroy.
You want details? Fine, but sit down and brace yourself. Okay, here it is. You’re not immortal. Yeah, get a Kleenex, I’ll hold on.
Ready for the worst part? There are about twenty million medical things that can happen to you on that slide into the Big Farewell – aneurisms, strokes, dementias, don’t get me started. Bottom line – by then it’s too late; you won’t be able to obliterate that embarrassing piece of crap you wrote in one week while living on Seagram’s 7 and Lik-M-Aid.
Oh, a trusted family friend has promised to take care of everything if you’re incapacitated. What’s her name again? Iago? Weird name for a woman.
You just found the manuscript in the garage under a pile of old extension cords you’re afraid to use because the blades on the plugs are the same size? Wow, that’s some seriously antique stuff! So trash the cords, read your book and then build a fire out back. No argument! I’ll be there in an hour.
Yeah, I’ll bring the Seagram’s.