An Interview

10 Questions to ask Death:

Q) Why is black the symbol of death? Why don’t you wear some other color?

A) Originally, I wanted to wear my favorite color, Blue. But blood stains you know! In the end, I decided that black was just more practical. Just imagine how tacky it would be to wear blood stained clothes whenever I go out to lunch with the Boogeyman or Santa Clause!

Q) Why are you portrayed as a skeleton?

A) Once you see flesh die, you don’t really have the desire to eat meat anymore. The only thing that grows in the underworld are vegetables like carrots and beets. As a kid, I didn’t eat my vegetables. So, I only eat when I really must. So, to be frank, I’m just a slightly skinnier version of Mary-Kate Olsen.

Q) Do you enjoy your job?

A) Who wants to bring death to people? It’s like being a garbage man, you don’t want to, but someone has to, and people depend on you to. Now imagine the job of the garbage man being a million times more rare… now imagine how good my pay is!

Q) Why do you always dress in rags to do your bidding?

A) No offense, but I don’t want your dead human remains on me. When I’m not at work though, I dress pretty spiffy. I’ve been known to whip out an impressively extravagant suit whenever the Tooth Fairy is present…

Q) Why do you carry a scythe? Why not a sledgehammer or something?

A) First off, you have to admit that my scythe is pretty snazzy. To be honest though, originally I wanted to use the bat I have that’s signed by Shane Watson. But in the end, I decided that scythes are better fit for the job. The bat is now reserved only for giving comas.

Q) Have you ever accidently killed the wrong person?

A) To be honest, yes I have. But when I do, it’s not my fault. You have to blame the buisness. It’s like when you book a flight. Sometimes it’s delayed or canceled, or sometimes you take an earlier flight. You’ll get on the plane eventually, because you always end up going where you’re meant to be.

Q) How do you know which person to kill?

A) It’s all through email. I carry one of those nice phones that recieve emails. Everytime it’s someones time, my phone will beep and an address or location will show up. Then I go to that area and do my bidding. Once again, if its the wrong address, blame the buisness…

Q) How do you have time to kill all these people? Are you in two places at once?

A) Are you insane? You can’t be in two places at once! That’s nonsense talk! The underworld runs on different time than your world. In your years im billions of years old. In my years, I’m just in my mid 20's.

Q) Well, even still, how do you get to each place so quickly? You can’t possibly get from New York to Hawaii fast enough!

A) Believe it or not, the undergroud society isn’t quite as crowded as yours. We can move much faster undergroud without running into people. We’ve created systems of underground tracks that are about as fast as your modern day planes. Because of the time difference, it works out fine. Although, sometimes I do have really busy days. For days like those, I borrow the remote control that’s used on the set of Click, the Adam Sandler movie. But I only need those in times of desperate measures. Like during wars.

Q) What will happen once you do eventually die? Who will be death?

A) If things with the Tooth Fairy don’t go as planned, they’ll have to hire someone new. My job has been in the family for years. And if things go my way, a child with beautiful teeth will be the next Death.

Q) Death, any last words?

A) Yes, thank you. I just wanted to thank you for reading. And I hope you now have a higher appreciation for my job. Don’t fear death, but don’t go looking for it either. See you in the future.

-Death.

"Real" Music?

Real” music. What is it? Is “real” music good lyrics, a good tune, good vocals, or putting ’soul’ into it? I’m Classic rock lover, and if I’m gonna be dead honest, I can’t stand pop, hip-hop, blues, or (god forbid) country. AT ALL. So shoot me if you don’t agree, but in my world pop music is just a bunch of cookie-cutter wannabes jumping around on stage in front of a crowd of squealing little girls WISHING they were real rock stars. Now, before you open fire, I’ve been told (many more times that I care to count) that this isn’t exactly true. To some people pop music is just a more carefree, fun-loving kind of dancing music. And to those people rock, alternative rock, emo and (god forbid them) metal music are all just a bunch of depressed guys screaming in a microphone, trying WAY too hard to be edgy, WISHING they were the people up on stage in front of millions of fans. And hey, how should I know? But the point is, I think MY music is the “real” music, and every other person in the world probably thinks that THEIR music is the “real” music. So what, dare I ask, is the “fake” music? The young pop stars? The emo rockers? And if we all disagree, does that make everyone right, or everyone wrong? Someone’s taste in music is like catching a glimpse into their soul: they might be fun and bubbly, or dark and deep, or maybe even quirky and old-fashioned. But for crying out loud people, who really cares! I have had person after person tell me that my favorite band is nothing but a band of posers trying to be all moody and deep. Well maybe I love bands like that for all you know! Shouldn’t the fact that we all love music in the first place be able to create some sort of, I don’t know, bond? So it’s not about what music is “real” or “fake”, it’s how the music is brought to life in your mind. It becomes a part of you, however big or small that part is, and from that day forth you will share a sliver of a connection with every other person who felt the emotion that you did in that song. Becuase in the end, it’s music. No catagories, no stereotypes, no seperations. Just music, pure and simple

The Time Will Come.

One day we’ll all be dancing on graves. One day we’ll be beating each other to death over fried cheese. In the year 2045 school will no longer be required, and short people will fly. Cars will not emit exhaust because they will run on Mountain Dew. Nobody will have middle fingers or baby toes. Everyone will smile and chuckle. Gangsters will have dual identities as kick-a** attorneys. iPods won’t work due to intense radiation.

Sheboygan won’t appear on the map or to the naked eye. San Francisco will become overrun with sardines. The capital of the United States will be Walt Disney Land. A highway will exist across the Atlantic Ocean. The elderly will live on the moon. Mars will be used as a daycare center and Pluto will be called a planet again.

Talking aloud will be forbidden. Every household will have AIM. Text messaging will be acceptable everywhere. Telephones will not exist. Cell phones will self destruct if a call is placed to voice mail. Purses will be bottomless like in “Mary Poppins.” Planes will only carry 20 passengers at once. Africa will find a cure for AIDS. China will take over Asia, and Europe will be conquered by Australia. Tourists will be shot for wearing white tennis shoes and holding a map. Hawaii will float away, and Alaska will leave the U.S. for Canada.

The ozone layer will implode. People will wear body suits. It’ll be warm and sunny year round. Snow will only fall when the weather man says it should. Studying abroad will mean outside the Milky Way. Calculators will have color screens. The breaking news will feature live rhinos. More people will vote during “American Idol” season 45 than in the election of 2048.

F**k will no longer be considered a swear word. Hugs will become mandatory in all greetings. G will no longer be a rating for movies. Makeup will be outlawed, and Elvis will be reincarnated. Cancer will be cured, and chronic hat hair will kill half the population. Spiders will become extinct and I will have a pet koala bear named Fuzz. Flowers will bloom, and weeds will perish.

One day I’ll no longer be here, and the future for me will end. But on and on it will go … without stopping.

Snowstruck

When we were younger, I remember sitting on the monkey bars in the snow. We took of our hats and scarves, one at a time, to see who was the strongest, the bravest. I always won because you'd freak out when your hands stuck to the metal - you were afraid they would never come off. I'd call you a little girl and you would throw your hat at me.

The snow would fall and we would talk about kid stuff, and i'd wonder why I liked you so much. We would talk about things that we thought were so important: Pokemon and Digimon, and all of the other 'mon' type things that I can't even remember anymore; you were always better at them than me.

The snow fell and the soft glow of the streetlights made each flake seem like a fallen firefly, a lightning bug processional that I could never tear my eyes from, except to look at you. Our breath would hold the light as well. You would put two fingers to your lips and pull them away, exhaling and pretending that you were smoking a cigarette. I was afraid to do that because my mom smoked and I knew it was only for grownups.

Now it’s snowing again, and we’re sitting outside on the hood of your white compact car. It’s dark – three in the morning. The only light comes from your headlights and sends a dull pain through my eyes. I like the darkness.

Well, that’s not true. The second light comes from a small orange ember between your fingers, between your thin lips. Now your breath mingles with real smoke, creating a ballet of young and old, of mature and immature, of ignorant and just plain stupid. My legs are crossed and I watch you, wondering when exactly we grew up, or if you ever really grew up at all. Am I sick of the burning of secondhand smoke in my throat, the smell it leaves on me … or does it only intrigue me more?

You smile at me, your ball cap flattening your hair into your brown eyes. Your free hand grasps mine comfortingly. I inhale deeply and cast my eyes down, knowing that I was never going to be strong enough to remove the particular layer that led to nicotine. Or perhaps it’s the other way around, and I’m the winner again.