Thursday, August 09, 2007
In Memorial
Some of you have asked, but Anna, after you die, how will we continue to keep you memory alive?
I've come up with a nice option, best followed by jumping in after the casket arms raised to the air screaming "WHY GOD WHY!!! WHY DIDN'T YOU TAKE ME INSTEAD!?" This will be especially touching since I plan on being cremated and you will be jumping on someone else's casket. I've asked Sabrina to throw frogs down over the services for dramatic effect. At the end of the funeral I would like you to please reenact Michael Jackson's Thriller video while sobbing.
So after that, please see the attached memorial tattoo of ODB, and have one of me done on your upper arm. The face is so similar looking that really all you have to do is have the tattoo artist make the hair longer.
I've come up with a nice option, best followed by jumping in after the casket arms raised to the air screaming "WHY GOD WHY!!! WHY DIDN'T YOU TAKE ME INSTEAD!?" This will be especially touching since I plan on being cremated and you will be jumping on someone else's casket. I've asked Sabrina to throw frogs down over the services for dramatic effect. At the end of the funeral I would like you to please reenact Michael Jackson's Thriller video while sobbing.
So after that, please see the attached memorial tattoo of ODB, and have one of me done on your upper arm. The face is so similar looking that really all you have to do is have the tattoo artist make the hair longer.
Thursday, August 02, 2007
My first marriage
I realize that I didn’t account for possible heirs when writing my living will. I will now address my death as it concerns my first child, Jianna. For those of you who don’t know the story of Jianna, I will briefly elaborate here.
When I was in middle school in Portland, my class went on a retreat for three days to a local campsite for “Sex Camp.” We learned about STDs and condoms and crap. Then, to discourage us from ever sitting on a boy’s lap or sharing gum or any other means of getting pregnant, the teachers drew names out of a hat and assigned us spouses.
I was madly in love with a half Irish, half Iranian boy named Mike, and crossed my fingers that I would get him. Rather, I ended up with Jonathan Peterson (I’ve changed his last name). Jonathan was a fat, bespectacled genius who ran in gym class with a scarf around his neck and a cardigan around his shoulders. Looking back, he was pretty awesome but I was a mean pretty girl and I was so mad about being paired with him I couldn’t see straight.
Any who…our child was a sack of flour that I called “it” and Jonathan named “Jianna.” He drew long, Daisy Duck eyelashes on it and a little red mouth. A day later, in a fit of parental rage, I threw Jianna into Jonathan’s chest and she exploded against her father.
Last year, I found out that Jonathan is now an Ivy League educated, contact lens wearing homosexual. I really believe that people are born gay or straight, but I can’t help but think that the fact that his first experience with a girl involved him tolerating her emasculating rantings and the murder of his daughter.
Jianna gets nothing.
When I was in middle school in Portland, my class went on a retreat for three days to a local campsite for “Sex Camp.” We learned about STDs and condoms and crap. Then, to discourage us from ever sitting on a boy’s lap or sharing gum or any other means of getting pregnant, the teachers drew names out of a hat and assigned us spouses.
I was madly in love with a half Irish, half Iranian boy named Mike, and crossed my fingers that I would get him. Rather, I ended up with Jonathan Peterson (I’ve changed his last name). Jonathan was a fat, bespectacled genius who ran in gym class with a scarf around his neck and a cardigan around his shoulders. Looking back, he was pretty awesome but I was a mean pretty girl and I was so mad about being paired with him I couldn’t see straight.
Any who…our child was a sack of flour that I called “it” and Jonathan named “Jianna.” He drew long, Daisy Duck eyelashes on it and a little red mouth. A day later, in a fit of parental rage, I threw Jianna into Jonathan’s chest and she exploded against her father.
Last year, I found out that Jonathan is now an Ivy League educated, contact lens wearing homosexual. I really believe that people are born gay or straight, but I can’t help but think that the fact that his first experience with a girl involved him tolerating her emasculating rantings and the murder of his daughter.
Jianna gets nothing.
