No Pen For Death
July 31, 2014
I like to collect things. I started with stickers and stamps, and then graduated to comic books and travel-size soaps, shampoos and hand sanitizers. But my favourite collection is my range of drug pens.
My mom’s a doctor and every week a parade of pharmaceutical sales people come to her clinic to ask her to prescribe their brand-name (expensive) medicines instead of the generic (cheap) pills. They always give her little mementos like pens with the names of the drugs on them. And since Dr Mom only needs so many pens, she gives them to me.
I’ve collected two hundred and thirty-three drug pens, ranging from Aspirin to Zoloft. I have pens for depression, acne, high blood pressure, arthritis, and six for erectile dysfunction (that’s an adult way of saying: wieners that don’t work). My favourite pen is for a drug called Gastellex, which treats ‘aggressive flatulence’ (an adult way of saying: really bad farts) and it even makes a fart sound when you click it. You get all the funny fart sound without the actual smell or unseen poo particles spreading around the room. It’s funny and hygienic! Win-win. I have pens for all sorts of ailments and diseases, but I don’t have a pen for death.
In fact, there is no drug pen for death because (and yes, I have checked Wikipedia) there is currently no known treatment, therapy, ointment or cure for death. Hence, no pen.
People die and they don’t come back. Death is the series finale of life, and there’s no reunion show. It sucks, but it’s true. And unless it happens to guys like Darth Vader’s boss or Osama Bin Laden, it’s pretty sad.
Death is a one-way street with no U-turns and no exceptions
But now there is an exception. Me. The zombie.