Terminally Truthful
I’m sick and tired of people being sick and tired of having terminal illnesses. I’m not talking about your run-of-the-mill terminal illnesses; and by terminal illness, I’m not referring to the types of maladies that airport travelers encounter – such as Luggage Limp, Airport Ear, Coach Cough and drunkness. In the words of Allen Iverson, I’m talking about cancer. I’m talking about the stalwarts like all the types of cancer, lymphoma, Benjamin Buttonism and A.I.D.S. I’ll tell you this, if you look past all the pain and the death, these illnesses aren’t bad at all because they allow you to do something that you have, most likely, never done before. They allow you to tell the unvarnished truth – why do you think old people are so funny?
Am I crazy for thinking this? Hell yes, but I’m crazy for thinking a lot of things and you shouldn’t just hold this one against me. Before you start going all Drunken Joe Namath on MNF on people, I’d get at least two or three opinions. I’d also get them from doctors who have offices in a hospital building because – while I believe in the competence of the so called “doc in a box” – doctor’s at walk-in-clinic’s malpractice only covers moderately painful diagnoses; then they have to refer you to a specialist who has more coverage. Hopefully, the disease you were lucky enough to contract that is going to unlock your more truthful side will also require a high amount of pain medication. It’s in your benefit if they are obtained by legal means too. The trip is always easier and less stressful when you’re going to pick up legitimate prescriptions, as opposed to the “Lortab 20’s with 100 refills” that you signed after you snatching a script pad from your doctor’s office. When you’re on your way out, you don’t have to worry about this as long as you were lucky enough to get a painful disease. As I said, pain is good. It requires narcotics, which dull your inhibitions and allow what you believe to be the truth to flow. And when you’re dying, it is the truth as you know it. Who is going to argue with you?
Once you’re all legally pilled out, you have to decide who you want to unleash the truth upon. It can be anybody you’ve never had the guts or opportunity to go all gonardish on before. What’s the worst that could happen? You could end up in jail? Nah. Within an hour of being there, you’re bond will be amended after the jail sees the spreadsheet of upcoming doctor’s appointments and the 5 gallon zip lock bag containing all of your daily pills – some of which could choke a toothless horse. You’ve only got a limited amount of time, so don’t feel as though any of amount of truth telling is too small or inconsequential. For instance, there’s that guy at the convenience store who always says “Howdy” when you roll in. Everybody who is anybody knows you are clearly a “What’s up, dude?” kind of guy. You’ve never picked any damn corn or shoed a horse. Who does he think you are with that “Howdy” stuff? Let that bastard have it. Feels good, doesn’t it? What about the guy you had it out with years ago, and your brain locked up before you could come up with anything to say? Arguments aren’t like sitcoms with constant witty retorts – are retorts special ed pastries? – and laugh tracks. Or how about the chick who got the best of you because your tongue ring got caught in betwixt your teeth? So instead of “Your mother’s on welfare”, it sounded like you said “Uer uter’s un elfur” – like you had just fell off a stool in the bar scene from Star Wars. Go find that fool and remind them that their momma’s on the government teet, whether it is still true or not. It isn’t always about what is true today, it can also be about what was true yesterday.
If you’ve got long enough, maybe you could design products or write books that help other people who are about to become locksmiths at the Pearly Gates – or chimney sweeps down under. You could invent Oxycontin candy for someone afflicted with a terminal case of cancer, but can’t take pills. You could write the first ever self-death book entitled, “I’m Dying, and All of You Can Kiss My Ass”. Chapter 1 could be all about helping the similarly situated making the tough choices between telling the truth to local people versus out of town people – which can be calculated using an easy Truth + Person x Distance(in %) = Death Formula (Patent Pending/Nobel Death Prize Consideration Pending). The book would be a best seller, for up to 6 months or so, in all the hospital and hospice bookstores.
In closing, a terminal illness is a terrible thing to waste. The truth doesn’t get told enough anymore. If you have one, you might as well start telling the other and go out in style.
