Hector had always been fastidious. There was not an ounce of spontaneity in his genes (nor in his jeans for that matter). When he was approaching his sixtieth birthday he made a list of the names of his parents, grandparents, uncles, and aunts. Next to each name he wrote their exact age when they died.
Aunt Peggy, for example, died when she was sixty-one years and eleven days. Uncle Sylvester died aged seventy-two and ninety-six days. His maternal grandmother died aged eighty-three and two hundred and seventeen days. He would mark off each person when he passed their age. He would beat them all! He would draw a great big happy face next to each name the day he passed their death age! Ha! Ha! Ha! A happy face to celebrate!
Hector pinned his plan to the back of his kitchen door.
That was one hundred and twenty-four years ago. Not a single happy face was ever added to the list.
Brandon Branson was living proof that eating healthily wasn’t necessarily the healthy thing to do. In fact he wasn’t living proof at all. He was dead as a doornail.
Brandon had eaten healthy food since his teenage years. He’d meticulously read the list of ingredients on the back of every food package. He’d carefully counted the calorie intake daily. And then WHAM BANG! He dropped dead instantaneously at the kitchen bench while dicing a raw carrot.
This is proof, declared his niece Sonja who owned a confectionary operative, that healthy eating is a marketing ploy by the companies that monopolize the food industry. You can see why us nieces and nephews referred to him as Uncle Vegetarian Dumpling.
It goes to show, said Raewyn the President of the Big-boned Ladies Collective, that being skinny has few advantages. Brandon may have eaten healthy food but without a doubt he was never happy.
His death pulls the mat out from under the burnt-out trendy lefties who think we should all live miserable lives, said Norm Gladworthy the founder of the Fat Earth Society. I’m rather glad he died. It shows the falsehood perpetuated by head-in-the-sand trendy trendies and all those who belong to the Green Party. He exercised every day as well I’m told, and look at him now. There’s not a movement in his cold corpse. A fat lot of use it was living all that apparent fine fettle fiasco.
Dorothy McKenzie was a lone voice supporting Brandon Branson’s healthy lifestyle. He may be dead, she said, but surely he led a happy and productive life throughout his ninety-seven years.
Hello. I’m here to collect for the Red Cross. They say you have a son roughly the same age as my son. Well – I’d like to say just one thing. Why should I have to suffer because my son was killed in the war, while your namby-pamby son sits around doing nothing? I hear he doesn’t even have a job. You obviously brought him up to be lazy. Like mother like son I always say. There’s a reason why lazy slobs like your son don’t get out of their cosy house and do something positive for their country. That reason is always the parents. No, I have no qualms in telling it the way it is to your face. My son died so your son could enjoy his sloppy life in peace. It’s not fair. There’s no justice left in the world.
Who’s this coming into the room? That’s right, don’t introduce me. Continue to play the rude housewife. I didn’t know you had an invalid in a wheelchair in your house. Does he live here? Who is it?
Alana was a fabulous concert pianist. She gave concerts all over the world. Critics raved. Audiences swooned.
“God has truly blessed you,” said Bethany.
“God has blessed me, my foot!” said Alana. “My talent is the result of hard work. I practised for hours as a kid. My ability has nothing to do with the fiction you call God. It has everything to do with me and me and me. Grow up.”
You wouldn’t believe it, but Alana died. “I had no idea that heaven was real,” said Alana arriving at the pearly gates. “I thought all this heaven stuff was a load of hogwash.”
“What would you like to do?” asked God (in a booming voice). “Who would you like to be?”
“I want to be the greatest pianist that ever existed,” said Alana.
WOOSH! Her request was answered immediately. There she was on a distant planet somewhere in the constellation of Piscis Austrinus. There sat the perfect grand piano. Alana began to play.
“I am truly blessed,” thought Alana.
Eventually it dawned on her. She was the only one on the planet.
Norbert hadn’t realized he’d died. He got up in the morning totally oblivious to the fact that he had died in his sleep. He made breakfast. He made plans for the day. He even made his bed! In fact he hadn’t made his bed he just thought that he’d made his bed.
It wasn’t until several days went by that he realized no one had any perception of his presence. Everything in Norbert’s existence was simply his imagination. For example, he saw them sell his car, but he still drove it to town. It seemed like he was travelling in his car, but he wasn’t.
The only difference at first was that life would have no end. Fear of death had gone. Immortality reigned. Life had the same pains and joys, the same ups and downs. And then he began to have nightmares. He began to wonder if he was in hell. He began to believe he was in hell. The plummet into hell was a slow and deceitful process. It got worse as the years went by. It became horrific. He began to scream “Let me out! Let me out!” There was no escape.
The legendary film star, Fortescue Langworthy, has died aged 97. What an icon!
Two years ago he was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. Two months back he was diagnosed with bowel cancer and has been receiving experimental treatment in Mexico. He had just returned from Mexico when he came down with pneumonia.
The family have asked for privacy at this sad time.