I Refuse To Go To Your Funeral, Stranger

You may hate me for saying this.

You may become disgusted and horrified and completely frustrated with my opinions here today. You may want to fashion a voodoo doll of sorts with my sparklingly-attractive head-shot (that has obviously been photoshopped) and stick pins in my nether region because of the opinion I want to share with you here today.

But it cannot stop me from telling you that if I happened to go down in a plane crash with a bunch of strangers and we all landed on, oh I don’t know, a desert island or something and you died — I would refuse to go to your funeral.

Here’s why…

If I Was Rotting Corpse

Being a living, breathing, rotting corpse would present quite a few problems in my life.

Mostly, I think going out with people for dinner would probably be the biggest concern. Cause there I’d be, sitting at a table with a group of people all hungry and getting ready to eat something delectible that they’d ordered on purpose, while across the table would be me. Rotting and smelling and stuff.

Mind you, it’s not like my limbs would be falling off or I’d be a walking zombie or anything like that. I’d be the regular Pauly D you know and love except for the fact that I’d be a rotting corpse.