|Blogging Like I've Never Blogged Before|
Tuesday, August 19, 2003
What can I say about Mike? He was a son, a brother, a friend, occasionally an asshole, a cockblocker, pretty lazy, really boring to talk to on the phone, oftentimes he drank too much, monotone, and basically a slob.
For example, we had to clean out his room, you know, because he's dead and all, and it was a fucking mess. I mean, you'd think the smell would have gone away once we got his body out there, but his post-death stank was actually covering up what his room has always smelled like. It was fucking disgusting. We actually brought his body back in there just to block the true smell. I mean, there were dirty clothes piled about a foot high, sometimes two. The kicker is, they were right next to a half empty hamper. What the fuck? I mean, he was just putting it on the floor next to the hamper. I guess he tried to shoot in there like a basketball, but missed, then just left it there. And the socks. Holy crap. I don't think he ever actually washed any of his socks. He just kept buying new ones. They were everywhere.
He was fun to drink with though. He'd get to that point where you could tell him to do anything and he'd do it. After we drank around the world in Epcot, we convinced him it would be hilarious if he stole a parking tram. He actually got in it and tried to drive it. The thing shut down on him and he kind of got locked in there and freaked out, but man, was that funny. He also seemed to hit on every girl, which was pretty pathetic.
Hmm, what else can we talk about? Oh, his blog. His fucking blog. He was always like, "Did you read my blog? Huh? Didja? Was it funny? Did you like it?" Oh my God, shut the fuck up already! You are funny, get over it. He is so fucking insecure. How much reassurance can you give someone before you just want to push them out of a window?
He wasn't a religious man, so I guess it's a little inappropriate to have his funeral in a church. I mean, the sacrilegious things he would say were pretty bad. I'd usually take a couple of steps away from him, just in case he got struck by lightning. And he wrote this eulogy, knowing it was going to be read in a church, yet he insisted on my saying the word "fuck" multiple times.
Anyway, I guess that's about it. At his request, we will all be going to some really crappy dive bar after the funeral, because that's the way he would have wanted it. And kudos to Mike's friends from Disney World who, to no one's surprise, brought a keg filled with Natty Light.