Don’t die doing what you love

By on January 2, 2015
die doing what you love

You know what makes me sick?  You know what makes me so mad I just wanna eat worms?

I think most of you know by now… I got two major pet peeves in this world.  The first being… people who put clothes on dogs.  And the second one is when people call other people ‘lucky’ – who are obviously not lucky.  You know when some poor idiot accidentally shoots a nail through their brain with a nail-gun… and survives.  And the doctors say… ‘He was lucky.’  Really?  How does shooting a four-inch nail through your skull… qualify you as ‘lucky’?  Stupid – I get.  Butter-fingers?  Probably.   But not lucky.

Well – I found another pet peeve.  When you dopey people die doing what you love, like a sport or adventure… and your widder goes, ‘Well, Buddy died doing what he loved.’  Lady – he was clutching his chest and fighting for air.

Lemme ask you something?  Is that the way you want to go?  Doing something you love?  That sounds like a cruel joke to me.  The Almighty is up there watching you work your butt to the bone.  He’s watching your family ride your back like a circus pony.  He’s watching you struggle to make ends meet and keep the wolf away from the door.  Then you slip on some bowling shoes – and he punches your ticket.

Don’t die doing what you love

So if it’s okay with God… here’s a list of times I do not want to go.  That would include when I’m bowling… fishing… hunting… drinking… watching NASCAR… watching football… hanging at the Duck Inn… or camping.

Now I would not mind kicking the bucket at work… standing in line at the DMV… at one of my old lady’s family reunions… or at a high school band concert.

Then at my funeral – my old lady could tell visitors… ‘well, at least Earl died doing what he hated.’  And they’d look down on me in the coffin and think… ‘lucky son of a pup.’

Wake Up, America!!! I don’t want to die doing what I loved.  I would rather have my wife telling people… ‘the nice thing is… the company paid for the whole eight hours.’  Buy my book. I’m Earl Pitts, American.  Pitts Off.

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