A Death Bed Soliloquy:

Or Getting Your “Dead Ducks In A Row”

And as this life on earth, according to the Holy Scribes (who know diddley squat about ANYTHING), comes to an end, and you’re getting ready to meet “Your Maker,” “in heaven, of course!” Where else would any self-respecting Maker live? In Sheepshead Bay? Harlem? Port-of-Spain? So, a doctor comes into the hospital room where all your hypocritical relatives are all sniffing, crying, and babbling sh*t, and saying how they gonna miss you; some wondering the cheapest way to get rid of your body and stave off the freeloaders wanting to eat, drink and party at your expense, you realize you must put your thoughts in order.

A deathbed prayer is in order (required/demanded) of anyone transitioning so that they stand a great chance of entering Heaven. You, my man, do not want to f**k this up. Period. The first thing is the clasping hand thing. You can’t have your hands lying around in any stupid way. Here are your options:

PHASE I

1. Put your hands together, you know, like a typical Christian prayer fanatic. Close your eyes. That always works.

2. You have to give God some variety and options here. So, you may want to consider an “Ok” sign going kinda sky towards God. A little auto-suggestion never hurts. Don’t leave anything to chance at this crucial point.

3. Try NOT to do the devil horns thing with both your hands. That’s a “no-no.”

4. It’s perfectly normal to have second thoughts. Really? Are you, indeed, no doubt about it, dying? Croaking? Giving up the ghost? Should you spook your kids and suddenly tell them you love them?

PHASE II

Once you get the hands thing right, you must establish EXACTLY who you are praying to since dying can be a bit confusing. What with seeing big balls of light, your long-dead Mum calling you, and all other weird, hallucinating sh*t. Here are some basic guidelines and, er, lines of prayer:

1. Dear Jesus Christ in Heaven, Savior of Protestants, Communists, and Hebrews, please hear my dying prayer.

2. Dear Jesu-hov-All-Big- Man- in- The – Sky -Yahweh, my Almighty Lord whom I call many names for Thou art so great I cannot choose only one, here is my prayer to You. [You have to cover ALL your bases. Don’t skimp on the praises part.].

3. O, Fiery One, Ye Expert Of The Pitchfork, Dear Lord Satan, I have a last prayer for you. You Sulphur-smelling cretin! This is my disgusting hissing belch of unadulterated hatred and blasphemy. You tempting, lying MOFU.

4. Look, you don’t know God’s name or which religion’s God is the “right” or “wrong.” Come to think of it; you don’t think anyone else does. Yep. Everyone’s just winging it! A highfalutin superpower (No, NOT like America or China, you blithering moron!) with the knowledge and capability to create the universe, and Hitler and that Dahmer guy, and a whole bunch of axe murderers, wouldn’t be hung up on what you call them or what specific form of worship you choose. Right?

Okay, okay. Now that you’ve established precisely who you are praying to, it’s probably a good idea to thank them for the life they gave you. Here’s the script. PLEASE NOTE: No improvisation or some stupid editorial liberty on the language is allowed. Just follow the freakin’ script, please!

1. I thank You, Lord Christ, Your All-Powerful Worshipfulness (BTW, Great job parting the Red Sea! Or was that your Father? You must do it again to save the migrants from drowning trying to get into Germany! That ought to show the Ole Horned Bastard in Hell!) I

thank you for the great suburban life You have given me, my two nappy-headed children, Betty-Ann and Roderick, and my annoying in-laws. Sometimes I wonder if these two really dumb f**ks are REALLY, REALLY my children/offspring. But you see and know “all things” but I am only human, and you can’t blame me for doubting, after all, what with the Virgin Birth thing.

2. Again, cover all your bases. You might not get into Heaven, so playing nice with Ole Nick with the Fork-in-his-Hand is a great idea. Thank you, almighty Satan, for the horrible gift of pain, suffering, and death you will bestow on me. PLEASE NOTE Pile on the “death and suffering thing” on Satan because God will not allow you into Heaven if you hint that He’s even remotely involved or to blame. The Devil made me do it always works!

Finally, just before you croak, it’s an excellent idea to include something about the sins you’ve committed because God knows about all that stuff, so you may as well be honest about it. Here’s how to go out with a bang!

1. O, Father Great God, forgive me for my numerous transgressions, just as You promised in the New Testament. However, I must protest a bit: I did not commit the Original Sin (that was the stupid, pussy whipped coward Adam who blamed EVERYONE but himself!), but now I am nonetheless tainted by it. Also, I should note that I’ve been baptized many times – just in case.

2. I know I didn’t go to church or temple or mosque very often (Sorry but after a heavy Saturday night of partying and fornicating, getting up early on Sunday was not an option!), but that’s because in my humble opinion that, sometimes the best church is the one in your heart?

3. I know you saw my behavior and may have frowned over the time and money I spent gambling and having sex with prostitutes. I can explain that: I was learning about the world’s wicked ways so I’d know what to avoid. By banging hookers, I was learning how to serve you better. I acknowledge that I was not perfect, but which human is?

Finally, do the cry/sympathy thing: Oh, Great and Exalted One, please don’t make me burn in Hell! I am so sorry I f***ked up. Whether you’re God or Jesus or Buddha or that Indian lady with all the many arms, please, please, don’t give Ole Satan the pleasure of burning and poking me with that fork of his forever and ever. I know he’s grinning and rubbing his clawed hands in anticipation. Don’t let that happen!