A dear friend of my mom's was diagnosed with bone cancer two weeks ago, and within two days had passed away. That wasn't a lot of time for reflection or goodbyes, but somewhere in there was a story that brought a spark of laughter. Like Zombie, the friend who died had a wonderful, irreverent, rollicking sense of humor.
From what I know of Zombie & The Phalanx, this might be a place for it, as well. Now seems a good time, too, since it looks like most of you will be too soused on the new gin icon to notice if it turns out to be horribly inappropriate! I offer it to you in the spirit of love, laughter, and the art of going down fighting. It went something like this:
A man on his deathbed, in his last hours, becomes vaguely aware of the sounds of the many family members and friends who have lovingly gathered in the living room. He also becomes aware of the smell of chocolate-chip cookies, which are his absolute favorite thing, and which his usually no-nonsense wife has always made for him as comfort food in times of stress or fear. Although he knows his death is imminent, perhaps only hours or minutes away, he decides he wants to taste one of her cookies one last time.
He musters up a final surge of energy to drag himself from his bed and crawl to the kitchen. All he can think of is the cookie. His mouth is watering for the first time in weeks and he knows it will be the last thing he ever eats.
He reaches the counter and manages to claw his way up, and sees that the counter, all the counters, are covered with trays of hundreds of cookies. Has he died already and gone to heaven? He doesn't care. The aroma is so strong he can practically taste it already. He reaches out a trembling hand, can feel the delicious heat on his palm, when suddenly out of nowhere a spatula smacks down hard on his knuckles and he hears his wife's voice:
"Fuck off, you! Those are for the funeral!"