I am dead.
Then I am not.
If I can see and feel, I can’t be dead?
Or can I be?
What counts however, is what’s happening down there and around.
So can we all just stop being ridiculous and listen?
Oh, they are talking about the guy that died last month. He had AIDS? Really? AIDS? I thought he had leukaemia. Anyway, he’s dead. Oh well, so am I. Thing is, these people knew!
Hold on, that’s my dog. Poor creature. Looks like he’s missing me already. Oh, Bullet, Bullet! What? Stop. You crazy dog. You can't befriend him (trash collector). You are going away with him for that old trashed bone? Seriously, doggy? Whatever happened to mourning?
Aunt Ciny had a crush on her neighbour Victor? Now that they are both dead as well, what do you call their union? Heavenly?
Okay, fine, there’s way too much to listen and handle right now and I’m in a bit of a hurry. Deadline for this post is in 20 mins. Typing from the grave isn’t that easy. You must try sometime. Like that chick Uma Thurman who tries to get out of her coffin by punching her way out in Kill Bill II. Could be your new pastime. Gotta check on the husband. Beer already? You gotta be kidding me! Who’s the untouched mug for? Me? You really did that? How sweet, my love! I remember how you always bring me my mug. And today…(tears, tears + smile).
Bloody mosquitoes. They don’t even leave the dead alone, do they? Get the hell outta my coffin.