PatrickRay.Net

The other day I was sitting at a restaurant and I overheard a bunch of ditsy college girls talking about all of the things they want to do in life and it occurred to me that seemingly everybody makes a big deal over the things they want to do before they die. Some people get so involved in their dreams that they make actual lists and share them with all of their friends that have lists as well. These individuals are know as “Lister’s” and have even been known to have “List Parties”. Insane, I know. I don’t know what goes on at these parties, but I bet they serve stale pretzels and wine coolers. What’s not insane is that I usually laugh at mostly everything listed for three reasons. 1) The endeavor is outlandish. 2) The person is just asking for something to go horribly wrong 3) The list is the exact same as everyone else’s.

 

In order to celebrate these endeavors of mediocrity in my own special way, I’ve developed my own list that’s just the opposite. I’ve developed my own list and named it, “Things I don’t want to do before I die”:

 

 

I’ve put all kinds of things on it and like all good lists, I’ll continue to add to it until the day, or night, that I die. Things like: I don’t want to Climb Mt Everest, run a marathon, travel to every continent, swim with dolphins, or have 2.5 kids all before I die. I don’t want to do a single, solitary one of those things before I die. Can you imagine falling off of the side of a cold, snowy mountain or having a massive heart attack 17.6 miles into a run. 17.6 miles, who wants to do that? What would you do if you were impaled by a dolphin? I’ll tell you what you’d probably do. You’d probably die. Congratulations for getting nailed by Flipper. There’s a reason you don’t have gills and fins. You’re no Water World Kevin Costner. And 2.5 kids. What am I suppose to do with half a kid? If I had half of a kid it would probably mean that I was married to a retarded fish-frog, since I’m clearly not a retarded fish-frog. What would that say about me and my taste in women? That, or it’s a conspiracy between Flipper and my retarded fish-frog of a wife to go around plotting to cut my kid in two. How insane is that?

 

 

Here’s a good one. I don’t want to coach little league baseball. I used to want to coach little league baseball because I know I’d be good at it. My team would win every game. We would probably even get invited to play in the Little League World Series which we would win 13-0. The problem with winning little league games is that if you’re a decent coach then the least you can do is take your team to Chucky Cheese. In fact, Chucky Cheese is an obligation. Normally I’d be ok with this but I recently discovered that Chucky Cheese no longer serves beer. It’s not that I inherently disagree with this corporate decision, it’s just that this decision has cut all the fun out of suffering through the “where a kid can be a kid” experience. Part of the fun of Chucky Cheese is watching all of the redneck parents get drunk and end up in redneck death battles in the ball pit. Balls get thrown, bones get broken, kids fly, it really is an incredible experience. Whose going to raise their hand and say, “Ick, I don’t wanna see that while eating pizza”? Yeah, I didn’t think so. Our only hope is that Jerry Springer will host. Screw Little League Baseball.

 

 

I don’t want to catch AIDS before I die. I don’t want to have a prostate exam either and I’d like to avoid skin cancer if at all possible. I also don’t want to get punched in the face by an ultimate fighter. I stand no chance of winning that epic battle in a fair fight and fighting an ultimate fighter in an unfair fight is just asking to have all of his ultimate fighter buddies hunt you down and grind you into nothing. No thank you.

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