Something I forgot to mention in my previous post about 9/11 ceremonies being private, was the thing that made me think that in the first place. I saw this whole family holding up pictures of the man they were mourning. OK, holding pictures is normal, but they had put his picture and sort of made a sign out of it. But it was one of those sort of signs that is glued to a popsicle stick. Not a very big picture. Almost as if they brought it so they could fan themselves if it became too warm. Know what kinds of signs I'm talking about? It was just weird. I think they also had him on a t-shirt, but that may have been another family.

I know it's not my place to tell other people how to mourn, so I won't. But I will tell the people that will eventually mourn me, and those people are my family. So here is my plea to them.

Dear family and friends. When my time comes, and I am no more, please, I beg of you, do not put my likeness on a handheld sign or a t-shirt. Just remember me how I was. Trying to make people laugh, holding doors open for old ladies, and masturbating in the bathtub.

Thanks.

You know, I've never masturbated in the bathtub, or cried in the bathtub, but I have talked about it recently. It is just very funny to me. Anything being done in a bathtub is humorous. Even taking a bath. It's funny. Now, to neatly wrap up about four recent posts of mine, imagine this: A clown crying in the bathtub while masturbating.

Oh man, that's good stuff.

Speaking of making me want to cry, how 'bout those Mets? Those fuckers. Tease me, they do. Every year, they are just a big ol' tease. They give me blue balls. I feel like we've been dry humping for the last five months, talking all dirty, and then suddenly two weeks ago, they were like, "OK, get off me now. I have to go home."

My balls feel about as big as Mr. Met's gigantic ball of a head.

I always imagined Mr. Met led a very sad existence. Poor guy has that huge baseball for a head. You know he isn't getting chicks. He's a guy I pictured going home and crying in the bathtub. And then when he tries to get up and get out of the tub, he slips and falls, and of course he hits his head, because what else can he hit?

Poor bastard.

In happier news, did everyone see how Lisa and Trish decided to give the big EFF YOO to the terrorists by doing what George Bush told us to do on September 11? You know when he was all, "Go about your lives. Go shop. Go to Disney World." Well, Lisa and Trish went shopping, and well... go read.

I just want to reiterate to my family, please don't make me into a sign or t-shirt. Unless it's this picture.