After two days of chemotherapy, I am spent. You would think the actual chemo days would be the worst, but it’s the two or three days after that hit harder. They tell me it’s because… and here’s the cute… they’re trying to kill you!
Well, your cells anyway, and they hang on for a few days, gasping for breath, convulsing and thrashing around like the little drama queens they are. This makes your life miserable.
The point being, I have time for only one question and then I must collapse into a fetal position. So, you – the sweaty bald guy in the back, you have a question?
Yes, I do. When do you think the Gulf will be safe to swim in again?
Okay, I should have made myself clear. I will take only one “Don-related” question. How about you – the other sweaty guy in the back. Whattya got?
Do you feel you will come out of this experience with a better perspective on life and the world around you?
You see, this is an excellent question and one I have given a great deal of thought to.
You see that’s what people would expect. “Stop and smell the roses, each day is sweeter than the one before…” not this cowboy. I’ve decided to go another way.
After completing treatment and being declared the healthiest person on the planet and told I will live to be a hundred and twenty five, I am immediately going to do the one thing I’ve always wanted to do… become a complete and utter “tool.”
I’m going to start small, cut in line at Starbucks, park my new Escalade in handicap spots, knock ice cream cones out of little kids hands, you know, fun things.
And then I’ll step it up a notch, dine and dash after my jalapeño poppers at Applebee’s, you know why? Because I will be cancer free and fast as lightening.
That loud cell phone talker in the line at the bank? I’m going to rip the phone out of his hand and crush it with my new steel-toed cellphone crushing boot.
I’m going to walk up to random people on the street and tell them they look fat in those jeans, even when they look awesome. You know why? Because I’m a “tool” and that’s how we roll.
I know this behavior will not come without consequence, I know eventually I will have to go on the run. Hopefully, I will make it across the border into Nevada before I am captured. I hear you can pick up a nice three bedroom bank-owned hideout for a song.