“In this world, the only thing that is certain is death and taxes.” An overheard pickup line used by Benjamin Franklin on a buxom waitress at a go-go bar in Boston.My mother phoned me recently to say that she found a box of mouldy crap while renovating my old bedroom. I liked my old bedroom while growing up. It had walls, a ceiling and a door that locked from the inside - like all good bedrooms. I shared the space with my older brother. He punched me in the face once, like all good brothers. But back to the box of crap: It contained an essay I wrote in finger paint while in kindergarten. And now the essay is reprinted in its entirety, thanks to some wrangling from my literary agent, Uncle Wallace of Espanola. Enjoy.
An Essay about Life & Death
By Kevin J Pecore III
Deth is not funy, but lif can be hilarius.
The End (hold for applause)
That’s classic, regardless of the spelling. Okay, so then there’s death, ya? That clumsy white elephant in the room that few acknowledge even while the bleached behemoth is making an ass of itself knocking over coffee tables, openly hitting on chicks, and crushing the house pets. Hum. Mortality - it’s a peculiar deal. The second anything is born (created) - either through Immaculate Conception, or the old fashion way, like on a couch, in a Dodge Caravan, or two hundred leagues under the sea, the gift of life becomes a bit of an albatross - a terminal affliction, yes? Many people are terribly distressed over this bum deal. For some, the notion of their own mortality may only hit them later on in life, so they panic, stop smoking, gorge on fruit, and then climb a mountain as a strategy to cheat or prolong the inevitable or accentuate the thrill of living.
There’s nothing particularly funny about death. There is no program called America’s Funniest Home Death Videos. Ever notice how no one laughs on Criminal Minds? No fart jokes. Nothing. We live each day not talking openly about death, or perhaps rather talking around it through confusing bouts of circumlocutions, and awkward sounding euphemisms. We choose words carefully for the sole purpose of dulling the tusks of the elephant that has just crapped on that new burgundy leather chair from the Brick (“It really finishes off the room.”)
Homo sapiens are the only species that have any notion of our own mortality. That’s why monkeys and Apes always seem reasonably upbeat. They don’t know. They don’t care. For Koko the gorilla, true ignorance is bliss, and life is essentially one big banana. Outstanding! We can learn a lot from Koko. Not so much from lemurs - they seem a little aloof and silly - kind of stuck up and all too ready to rat you out.
Media across the board seeks to turn a quick buck on our preoccupation with death: books about the meaning of life and death, fear and enlightenment, snake handling and salvation, Christian-themed DVDs hosted by Kirk Cameron, and bookmarks with rainbows - mortal harbingers circling us like satellites. Life and death as commodities sell like hotcakes, or flapjacks, or waffles, or those delicious latkes made from potatoes. But while people fret and stew about what may happen tomorrow, little do they know that they are doing a lot of funny shit today. To be certain, death is not funny, but life itself can be hilarious.
Last Sunday, after months of meticulous planning, I hosted my inaugural three-day Lenny Bruce Memorial Think Rank Dunk Tank Roundtable Discussion and Music & Crafts Exposition in my tin shed from Sears, which I dubbed The Pleasure Dome of Enlightenment. I gotta say in all modesty that the turnout was amazing. People snaked down Lily St. standing in line wearing red plastic wristbands, and for that weekend, it was the hottest ticket in Mattawa aside from Ded Lord Leppard - billed as the only Christian Def Leppard cover band in Canada.
Thanks to a myriad of social media tools, plenty of notables attended my Think Rank Dunk Tank. Even Peter Frampton stopped in, and Danny Bonaduce, who brought his delightful fighting instinct with him. He’s always fun to hang around with. Like Tommy’s Holiday Camp, everyone was welcome, except that Beiber kid. He was turned away at the gate by the six bikers I hired for security. Hey, it worked out at Altamont so I figured what the hell.
The theme for the retreat would be ‘Living a Meaningful Life’. It seemed like a meaty premise. I sent out an eblast to the world - an open invitation letting people know that there would be no open bar, but I would put on a workshop on how to make your own soap that smelled like success. I convinced Fast Emily Bronson’s Linen Emporium and Gary’s Funeral Home and Chip Stand on Wheels to sponsor the event which was podcast and streamed live via satellite, hosted by Jian Ghomeshi.
The 2010 Annual Lenny Bruce Memorial Think Rank Dunk Tank Roundtable Discussion and Music & Crafts Expo
Robert H. from Hamilton, Ontario told me he worshiped the Egyptian Sun God, Ra, son of Isis and brother to Horus who would go on to win big on CBC’s Dragon Den™ with his idea to bottle the world’s natural supply of water and sell it back to us when we got real thirsty and desperate. I asked Robert who he worships on those off days when there is extensive cloud cover and immediate threats of rain. “Why the Rain King of course.” Outstanding! Robert had both bases covered. He told me he was struck by lightning in 1976 and died en-route to the hospital where he was revived, so he was not particularly wrapped up in dying. He was too busy running his Frisbee Golf League. After consuming 37 cans of Budweiser, he vomited beside the Pleasure Dome.
Todd K. proudly displayed his various forms of cutting-edge Macintosh global connectivity. He told me that he has loyally purchased every Apple product dating back to the early Eighties. I asked him how he could declare loyalty to a product. He just blinked three times and shook his head twice before continuing on. He said he was the first Canadian to own the new iPad™, bidding a hundred times the true value of the device online. He freely admitted that he does not know how he had been able to live any type of meaningful existence prior to 1982. He told me that the word is out on a new iPad™ that will now include an application allowing the end-user to see through corduroy, or better, with the Zap-Giggler™ application, electrocute people selected at random. Todd K. confessed to having experienced love, lost, longing, and redemption (within a large service area) through multiple Twitter™ accounts and has a Facebook™ Friends list topping twenty nine hundred people. I asked him if he felt the afterlife would provide reliable high speed WiFi™. He said that it doesn’t matters as he has signed a two-hundred-year web-plan directly with Apple. A term of the contract prohibits him from changing service providers or dying as a way to terminate the contract early, which Todd K. feels is reasonable. “Apple is all about ethics.” He spent the rest of the weekend showing girls his gadget. I don’t think he really came to discuss the meaning of life. After consuming 16 wine coolers, he vomited beside Robert H. from Hamilton.
During another meaningful interface, I mentioned my own personal thoughts on life and such to a fellow participant who seemed a little out of place; John Q. He came wearing pressed pants and arrived in a Hummer. I think he felt he was immune to death due to some type of accrued wealth and spectacular abdominal muscles. He insisted that he will outlive us all by decades. During a spirited back and forth, Robert H. from Hamilton bet John Q. six hundred dollars that Robert will easily outlive him. After the spectacle ran out of wind, they shook hands then Robert H. shoved John Q. ass-backwards over the rusted lawnmower that was moved to outside the shed. John Q.’s okay though, but I think it gave him something to think about. As the host, I would like to however, step up and take this opportunity to formally apologize on Robert H.’s behalf. So, John Q., I am sorry for my guest’s reckless behaviour. I have no problem apologizing. Saying sorry for me is like saying “pass the bread” or “who cut the cheese?” See? Sometimes I find myself apologizing for things I am not actually responsible for like that recent ash cloud messing with so many people. Sorry everyone missed their flights.
ALL APOLOGIES
Someone emailed me asking to sign an online petition. I emailed back to decline, apologizing for my irrational fear of signing petitions. There are times when I apologize without being sincere, for which I apologize. No problem. But there are times when a simple apology just won’t cut it. More than a few years ago I was double-riding a lanky guy on a ten speed bike that did not have adequate brakes. I ended up colliding with a woman carrying two bags of groceries. My passenger and I wiped out in grand fashion while the woman was sent tumbling into a ditch. It was a classic digger all around! I helped her to her feet and apologized. The apology was sincere but did little to alleviate the woman’s acute hip pain. To this day, whenever I see this woman I apologize for knocking her over. She says that she has since forgiven me. Forgiveness can be a big deal. Still, I feel terrible.
I’m reading Jim Bakker’s 1996 biography - “I WAS WRONG - The Untold Story of the Shocking Journey from PTL Power to Prison and Beyond.” I bought the book from a bargain bin for around a buck. I never thought I would actually get around to reading it but I couldn’t pass up that cover shot of Jim looking sorry. Jim was an evangelical rock star falling into the same desperate pit as many rock stars or celebrities in general. Sex. Drugs. Snake oil. Timeshares. Gobs of money. Lear jets. A charismatic speaker of tongues, Bakker became a clichéd victim of his own success (and excess). Damn. The trappings of fame. He spent five years in prison for overbooking his hotels and resorts - his demise spurred by a sixteen minute indiscretion with a young woman wearing a bustier. He’s apologized. His drastic fall from grace was just as celebrated as OJ Simpson’s. With Babylon (Heritage Village USA Christian theme park) still smouldering out in South Carolina, The Reverend Jim Bakker has long since been paroled. He does a lot of gardening. I invited him to be the keynote horticultural speaker for Sunday’s closing roundtable, but he declined with an apology. A man of my heart. I then asked him if he still had Jessica Hahn’s number. He called me a bad name, for which I demanded an apology, which he did, but I’m just not sure he meant it.
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