My Chemical Romance

My Chemical Romance put it perfectly.

I mean, being one, I can neither really defend nor be terribly shocked, but high school is weird. Was high school always this weird? Was it weirder ten years ago? I’m lost, man.

Anyway, point of the personal conversation. One day at lunch, teenagers happened to be scaring the particular shit out of me. And the administration walking by. We were discussing my funeral plans. This was about six months before I was re-diagnosed. So I was simply having a bipolaroid moment. Subsequently, the group of them were.

With many of these stories I have, it’s like with the game Clue, I have The Usual Suspects. And, of course, there was my ex, before he was my ex before we were dating (which means this was before he said two words a day to me, so we were on good terms).

Anyway, checklist:

– That casket has to be purple (I’m slightly colorblind from the radiation, just to shades, so browns bother me. Yes, I care about this postmortem)

– Funeral procession (WTF) dressed as grim reapers

– My friend Matt has to work into the eulogy us going Black Friday shopping dressed as drag queens

– They want me to buried in my blue dress that makes my boobs look good

– Their after party has to feature MCR’s “Cancer” (Naturally, right?)

– No Jesus-y sermon shit- I’m atheist. Not happening.

-Violet violets, not fucking blue!

– No crying. Absolutely no effing crying. Unless you were sad I was alive, do not cry. Or get out. I’ll haunt you.

 

This was released onto the Inter-webs of sound mind for better or worse. Names were not mentioned to protect the semi-innocent. If you tried hard enough, you could track the others down.

 

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Teenagers Scare The Living Shit Out Of Me

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