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I’m hope on my deathbed that people tell me I was as witty as I remember.
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Feeling lightheaded and falling backwards, Rodrigo said, “oh goodness. I’m feeling faint.” Knox catches him and lowers him too the ground. Wide-eyed, Rodrigo said, “woof.” Crying, Knox started seeing the memories of their relationship pass before his eyes: them meeting at a cafe, their first kiss, getting married, Rodrigo walking in on him while he was using the toil. Still crying, Knox said, “your life, at least during the time I’ve known you, just flashed before my eyes.” Eyes closed and smiling, Rodrigo said, “thank you. Saves me the trouble of having to do it.” Kissing him on the forehead, Knox said, “don’t die, Rigo. I love you too much for you to die.” Rodrigo asked, “was I as witty as I remember myself being?”
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My daughter once gave me a Father’s Day card which read “when I grow up, I want to be as funny as you think you are”…which kind of suggests she’s already well on her way
That is perfect!
’tis but a scratch.
Death always seems to call for melodrama, does it not? And whether or not we want it or ourselves to be, it’s still funny, no matter the bleeding. I keep picturing my friends at my funeral laughing at some of my lines, before falling silent and quietly leaving. It’s hard to go on with no encore.