Tchaikovsky Sounds Funny: My Dying Thoughts...For Real (Read All the Way Through)

Is this where I put in key words such as sex, lesbians, vampires, Christopher Lloyd and others things to which this blog do not pertain, but by putting them here, I may get hits from all the Christoper Lloyd lesbian vampire fans (and you know who you are)? This is the primarily humorous and occasionally rambling writings of Leon Tchaikovsky, humor writer. Enjoy.

Saturday, December 03, 2005

My Dying Thoughts...For Real (Read All the Way Through)

I have not posted for awhile, but I have a good reason. I died. It seems that dying limits your ability to post on the Internet. The things I learn from dying. This posting may not be as funny as my usual postings (it seems death narrows the scope of what remains funny), yet, for readers who follow the story to my last thought, they may discover a rare glimpse of the journey into the afterlife (which, for most entertainers, means a life of game shows and lame commercials.)

My death began when I made the mistake of attempting to have a rational conversation with an irrational person. Yet, let me start at the beginning. I went to a theme restaurant to recall if it was suitable for a friend and her daughter to visit. I had been there years ago and recall that it was nice, silly place where the staff dresses up in costumes and walk around telling lame jokes. I went alone, placed my hat onto a chair, and ordered. At that point, a woman in costume as a 19th century wench announced to everyone that there was a lonely man (me) dining with his only friend in the world, a hat. She then went to another table where a gentleman was dining with three very attractive women and informed the man that he had too many women and that he should share one with me. She grabbed one of the women and placed her at my table.

It seems the gentleman did not mind as his women were,,, let’s say available for lunch conversation for a price. She gave me her card. I told her I wasn’t interested in paying for conversation so she left.

After suffering the embarrassment of a public announcement of dining alone, I later decided I would eat dinner alone in my hotel room. I survived a long line to pick up some shrimp bisque and a drink. Unfortunately, as I placed the drink onto the counter to pay for it, it exploded and it spilled all over me. It seems someone as a joke had punched a hole in it. The woman at the cash register threw it away. I asked if I could get another drink. She said yes, but I would have to go to the back of the long line all over again. That did not seem fair to me as it was not my fault someone had sabotaged my drink. She then charged me for the drink. Now, here is where I state one cannot have a rational conversation with an irrational person. I tried to explain she shouldn’t charge me for a drink that was faulty when they sold it to me and that she has thrown away without my consuming it. Her response was that she didn’t know if it wasn’t me that put the hole into my own drink. Well, I asked, since you charged me for the drink, why did you throw it away and not let me keep what I had paid for. She responded she is not allowed to sell tampered products.

I went back and since I had spelled drink all over me and I needed to change for a shower before going to a play, I removed my clothing in my hotel room and had dinner. Fuming over being charged for a damaged product I did not receive, I quickly began to have some soup. It is interesting how, in just a fraction of second with the first sip of shrimp bisque that my brain could quickly process all of the following information: the soup, while still good, was missing some of the spices and flavoring that the establishment used to offer and thus was not as tasty as their soup used to be, and that they should add a warning to their shrimp bisque “Shrimp can be a choking hazard.”

I could not breathe. Fortunately, I know the Heimlich maneuver and I know how to self-administer it to avoid choking. Yet, in my panic, I never thought of this until a good half hour later. My panic response was to attempt to regurgitate. After several minutes, I realized this was not working.

I recall the feeling of losing consciousness. I remember my last thoughts before I died. I think a person’s last thoughts can be useful illuminations. Not mine. My last thoughts were: the police report is going to read he was found dead alone, naked, throwing up into a toilet, with a hooker’s phone number in the trash. Elvis Presley had a more dignified death.

Fortunately, at that moment, the shrimp dislodged and I survived. So, I live to post more. And to figure out an even more undignified way to die.


Anonymous Anonymous said...

I did not die on a toilet. I am still alive pumping gas in North Dakota.


10:41 AM

Anonymous Anonymous said...

And I am pumping gas with Elvis.

Jim Morrison

10:42 AM

Anonymous Anonymous said...

I thought you two looked familiar.

Abe Vigoda (and why does everyone keep saying they thought I died?)

9:53 AM


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