He liked tacos, pizza, hamburgers, subs and hot dogs.
Among the many reasons I’m disappointed in America, this is not one of them. Quite the opposite in fact.
The other day, a man named David Kime Jr. of Pennsylvania bit the dust at 88 years old. That’s a pretty decent life span if you ask me. Anything after that is overkill. He was noted as eating fast food nearly everyday of his life. My man.
Here’s where the story takes an interesting turn. During the funeral procession, they drove through a Burger King and ordered the dead guy a Whopper. This makes me happy. The only thing that bothers me is apparently his daughter was trying to lecture him on how to eat at the age of 88. If I make it to 88, there is a 100% chance I won’t even wear clothes, let alone eat what I want to eat.
I’m still young and care about nutrition and the state of my body, but I’d like to say around 50 (assuming I make it) I’d like to start letting myself go. This means eating fast food every chance I get, drinking lots of delicious beer, and golfing with a cigar in my mouth. I’d probably even enjoy some hookers and blow. Okay, not so much the hookers and blow, but I’ve seen it done in the movies.
I’m adding the following line to my will “All parties attending my funeral receive one free Taco 12 Pack because Tony would have wanted to be the life of the party.” As for me? When I bite the dust, drive me up to Taco Bell and order me the three best burritos they’ve got on their value menu, liquify ’em, and shoot ’em right into my corpse.