Hand Me Another Grapefruit

Hand Me Another Grapefruit

To My Friends & Relatives:

When I am old in a nursing home, be sure to bring me fruit.  Bring me a fruit arrangement so that I can snack on it.  I will eat the strawberries, and probably every other pineapple piece and throw the darned cantaloupe pieces on the floor.  Cantaloupe is just filler because the real fruit is too expensive, and someone, somewhere is worried about their Profit Margin.  Then bring a bowl of fruit so I can throw grapefruits at the television… because when you are old, you can do these sorts of things and people will pat your arm and go, “there, there, now why are you doing that?  That’s not nice, to throw grapefruits at the television.”  And I will laugh and say:  “I’ve spent most of my life trying to be nice (with varying results) and now I’m just being honest.  Hand me another *bleeping* grapefruit.  This show is written by idiots who think we are idiots.”

Also, buy me a shirt that says, “Rage against the machine.”  I will wear it when I watch television and the aides are too busy with someone down the hallway to change my channel to something intelligent.  I’ve spent my whole life reading intelligent or entertaining and sweet things… because the rule for your mind is the same as for your body:   “you are what you eat.”  And I want to be intelligent, entertaining and sweet (again, with varying results expected relative to circumstances.) 

The worst imprisonment I can imagine is not wearing Depends and eating soft foods.  It is having nothing else to do but watch the Idiot Box for my final days, ad nauseum.  Then, when I show up at the Pearly Gates, St. Peter will be paging through saying, “What the heck happened to you?!  You used to be very engaging.  Most recent entries on your behavior seem to indicate you were a bit testy at the Daisy Hill Home for the Aging and Infirmed.  Did you snap?” 

My reply will be a bit direct, I imagine:  “Just let me in, Pete, you have no IDEA what I’ve been subjected to for the past few years.  If the bane of trash television wasn’t enough, they only brought the Therapy Dogs in to see me once in a blue moon, and I’m utterly deprived of my dog-fix.”  He will look at me sympathetically and say, “Poor dear, come right in.  But wait for two seconds I’ve got to send a bunch of Hollywood writers through Purgatory first, we’ve got to give them time for feeling truly sorry for what they’ve done to the minds of the world.  And I’ve got to send a few Hollywood producers a little further down South to the no-return zone.  They’re inexcusable.  If they produced one more profanity, the Boss would have smote them personally.  Honestly.  And they were so gifted, initially.  Such a pity.”  Then he will add, “Oh, and while you wait, can you feed some of these dogs hanging around the gate, they’ll be coming in right along with you.”

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If you are reading my column and are unfamiliar with dry wit & sarcastic humor …. Build a bridge and get over it.  I don’t need counseling for anger issues.  Yet.  I’ve only had television service for a week after a 30 year hiatus.