A Formulaic Life
So, with the Fatman formula in mind my day began thus: I was waiting for ( Dr.Pollard- Cheese Scientist) to go to ( lunch) when ( I was attacked by a one-legged pigeon). It seems I can't wait for a friend without being attacked by some kind of a crippled animal these days. Maybe there's a voodoo curse on me. Maybe the 24-hour Alfred Hitchcock marathon was playing strange tricks on my mind. In any case when Pollard arrived and I whipped my head around to ask him if the one-legged pigeon was gone he patted my shoulder and reassured me that it was all o.k.
Me: I've been thinking about death lately.
Pollard: Are we still talking about that pigeon?
Me: We are talking about things that go beyond that. But, yes, let's not ignore the pigeon completely.
Pollard: ( after a while) I know how I want to be buried.
Me: Yeah? Getting yourself a plot? Cremation? Buried at sea?
Pollard: Better than all of that. I'm investing in all my money ( and possibly monies belonging to future generation of Pollards) to have my remains thrown out of a plane. Then, as I'm descending, I want to be blown to oblivion with a surface-to-air missile.
Pollard: It's been the same plan for over ten years.
It's good to talk to Pols.
(Eviction Day. I've since chatted to the Real Estate dudes and I think there may be room for negotiation)