Plans for my Partial Death

Published as Neal’s Belch or Neal’s Issues circa 2005. Although I see I took the liberty of updating my age for a mid 2000s IYH Blog rehash. I won’t be doing that again.

You may be aware that recently I suffered an injury to my right forefinger, causing a bruise which has taken this past ten days to heal. I’m pleased to say that I am now on the mend, but my scrape with the wall did cause me to contemplate my mortality, or lack thereof. I have been alive now for almost thirty-six years, and therefore assume that I am immortal. However, it may be that my hand and legs are not. And apparently some people who lose limbs choose to hold a burial service for their lost body part. This of course is not to be confused with the phenomenon of dogs who try to bury a bone in the back garden, but instead end up burying one of their own lower legs.

Anyway, I’ve decided that if it ever turns out that I am not technically “immortal”, and I do die, I will get around this by holding a burial service for my body, as if it is simply a missing limb. I will then ignore the fact that I am dead, and carry on as normal, hoping nobody notices. If necessary, I will declare my departure in my tax returns. I am, after all, a law-abiding citizen, and will not under any circumstances seek to undermine the authority of the government in matters of the re-allocation of incomes towards state spending.

My only worry is that my body will decide that I am dead, and hold a burial service for me at the same time that I am holding a burial service for it. I suppose at least we could save money by having a double plot, and be buried side by side, but who then would carry on the important task of being Neal?

Perhaps Justin, my middle name, could take over. I’ve always thought he was a nice chap, and it really is time that he got some of the limelight. Incidentally, since when has lime been capable of emitting light? That’s the most stupid phrase I’ve ever heard, yet I continue to use it. I’m like a sheep that blindly follows the herd as they are rounded up and pushed through the gate by the three-legged dog that for some reason is carrying a bone and, rather appropriately, looking sheepish.

That reminds me. There are not enough webcomics about sheep in this world. Perhaps if I get time I will create Matchstick Sheep, but let’s assume for a moment that I don’t. What is going to become of our children, who are being raised on a diet of Battle of the Planets and Huckleberry Hound? Where are our city kids going to learn the ways of the farm? There are far too many children in my locality who go through school without learning how to milk a cow. What on earth are they going to do in the event of a dairy workers’ strike? Does nobody think about these things any more?

And while I’m on the subject, why does a pint of low fat milk take up exactly the same amount of space as a pint of regular milk? Surely if there is less fat in it there will be less of it. And why have the bottled water manufacturers so far failed to come up with a “diet” version of their beverage? Those of us who try to diet are constantly being told that we have to cut out fat and unhealthy stuff from our lives, and drink more water, but when we try to do so we are cut down from all directions, like a forest coming under attack from a sword-wielding newspaper proprietor who has run out of paper and needs to get his hands on some quickly.

And that reminds me. If something is fried in fat, and you eat the something but not the fat, isn’t that a fat-free meal? And what happens if you make sausages out of a nice part of the pig, rather than it’s stomach and urinary equipment? Are you still allowed to call them sausages, or would you be in contravention of European Union regulations regarding the naming of food items? Perhaps it wouldn’t matter since you would probably give them a more upmarket name, to avoid selling yourself short. I always try to avoid selling myself short. I’m five feet, ten and a half inches tall, you know, and proud of it. It took a lot of effort to grow this tall, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to pretend to be shorter than I am, just for the sake of not looking greedy.

Furthermore, I’m hungry.