Joey "AccordionGuy" DeVilla (he of the "saved from a psychotic new girlfriend by the reders of his blog" story) is serializing yet another of his tales of romantic terror, in a story he calls, "The worst date ever." As usual, it's very funny.
A year earlier, she's decided to switch to a sort of made-up religion: a muddle-headed mishmash of wicca, crystals, aromatherapy and eye-for-eye karmic point-scoring (from the way she carried herself, she seemed to be exempt from karma accounting). Naturally, anything Christian — the religion of her parents — was by definition bad. She was doing a lot of flying that year, and like any superstition-prone fool with less rational scientific thinking skill than a bed of kelp, she was sure that she was going to die in a fiery plane crash. She told me that she had faith that I would honour her burial wishes because I was nice to her even when she was "being a total bitch."
All that did was fuel dark power of attorney fantasies. I imagined a funeral theme that could only be described as "Maximum Jesus". I wrote a script in which I would visit a hospital immediately after an accident. It went something like this:
Doctor: Mr. deVilla, she…she's…
Me: Tell it to me straight, doc. No sugar coating. I can take it.
Doctor: She's scraped her knee.
Me: I HAVE POWER OF ATTORNEY! I KNOW HER WISHES! NO HEROIC MEASURES! D.N.R.! PULL THE PLUG! PULL THE PLUG!I remember saying to my sister: "I don't even have the luxury of wishing she was dead, because I'd be stuck with all the paperwork."
