Death can’t be beat, even legally
I’m sure you’ve heard of death
before. Perhaps you were even
lucky enough to catch “Week
end at Bemie’s II,” the tender and
thought-provoking summer block
buster that left a nation quivering and
alone in its theater seats like helpless
Jell-O jigglers waiting for a cannibal-,
istic Bill Cosby to slurp them into his
billion-dollar tummy.
The biting realism and gritty out
rage of the film forced me to deal with
many difficult questions.
You think you have trouble getting
a job now; you just wait until you’re
dead. Employers generally frown upon
laziness, let alone complete immobil
ity. If I contract this apparently com
mon medical condition, my opportu
nities for career advancement will be
virtually eliminated.
I will have to be somewhat imag
inative if I hope to receive a consider
able salary during my post-mortem
career.
I here is the retail option. But gen
erally folks refrain from visiting the
interred bodies of persons unbe
knownst to them. So it is almost cer
tain that if I want to ensure large after
life profits at the hands of willing
consumers, I must achieve a measure
of fame.
Gettysburg, Arlington National
Cemetery, even Egypt’s Great Pyra
mids, all receive thousands of visitors
a year. The marketing of “Memorial
Merchandise” such as that of
Graceland has been greatly success
ful but has barely been explored by
other places like Arlington Cemetery.
With a little enterprising spirit, these
could be turned into huge money bo
nanzas. What child wouldn’t want a
Cheops’ tomb Lego fun set; what
favorite uncle, an Eternal Flame cig
arette lighter; what housewife, a Lin
coln’s armpit can opener?
The odds, however, of my achiev
ing fame given my circumstances of
Doesn’t the United States, a
traditionally Christian nation,
guarantee in its Declaration of
Independence from oppressive
mother England, life as well as
liberty and the pursuit of
happiness?
birth and lack of ambition seem more
limited than most.
Avoiding death altogether is an
other option I considered. If I convert
to Hinduism, I will probably return to
the life state again, perhaps inordi
nately wealthy, and I could, forexam
ple, afford to eat a food substance
other than my current dietary staple,
Cream of Wheat.
Conversely, I could return with as
little earning potential as. sav. a fun
gus.
Yet, it seems unfair to me that I
should have to give up my religious
convictions to avoid the death epi
demic. Doesn’t the United States, a
traditionally Christian nation, guar
antee in its Declaration of Indepen
dence from oppressive mother En
gland, life as well as liberty and the
pursuit of happiness? Jefferson, in the
name of the U.S. government, prom
ised U.S. citizens life 200 years ago
and has yet to deliver!
This sounds like a class action
lawsuit to me. I must call Ronald J.
Palagi; this clearly isn’t my fault. I
will fight for my right to live. In the
name of all Americans who think
there is no dignified death, who see no
shame in being a quadruple amputee
with nobladder control, who has stared
with drool forming on their lips at the
300-year-old Chinese guy in the
“Guiness Book of World Records”
who tangoed with Napoleon, the Su
perior Court of Nebraska shall hear
my cry!
Racing from my hovel to my of
fice, a.k.a. the phone booth outside
the 7-Eleven on 14th Street, I hastily
telephoned Cassie Brugh, whose fa
ther is a lawyer in York.
“Cassie, I need some advice in
your capacity as my legal adviser.”
“Yes?”
“I’d like to file a class action law
suit against former president Thomas
Jefferson charging that he has failed
to deliver on his promise to provide
the American people with life.”
“Kate, you left your wet clothes
over here on Saturday night. Did you
wear anything home?”
“Miss Brugh, I’m paying you as a
legal consultant. Handle personal
matters on your own time.”
un_ • j_**
i.au a juuge.
I could see this legal thing was not
nearly as easy as I had assumed. I
guess those Sally Struthers correspon
dence courses really do separate the
men from the boys.
I stepped from the booth wearily.
How far I have come, how many
are the tears I have shed. I wish I could
continue to fight for my brothers, but
the system has beat me. One woman
can only stand so much. I bowed my
head and spied a piece of lint on my
frock; 1 didst pluck it from me.
Verily now I can only march on,
bravely home to my television set, for
“Star Trek” is on.
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