Ron's Drunken Ramblings #15 - The F List
I heard about a new movie coming out in time for the Christmas rush called The Bucket List starring America's
favorite actor and Jack Nicholson. Everyone knows America's favorite actor is Morgan Freeman. . .or is it Samuel L.
Jackson? I always get them confused. Anyway, this dog of a movie is coming to a theater near you and its premise
is not really unique. An old rich guy (Nicholson) goes around trying to complete a list of things he wants to do
before he dies. He takes along his straight-man (Freeman) for hilarious hijinks on the road. Gee, never seen a
"buddy pic" before where one white guy and one black guy take off on some high-flautin' mission before one dies or
is arrested or to find some long lost love, son, or mom. Pretty sure Gene Wilder and Richard Pryor did about 100 of
these in the late 70's and early 80's, only theirs were funny. Need more evidence Hollywood is out of ideas?
Exhibit one: Alvin and the Chipmunks. I want to kick Jason Lee in the nads. Badly.
So, having been inspired by the weak and transparent premise of the Nicholson/Freeman movie, I decided to come
up with a list of things I will not be doing before I die. Therefore, I present to you The Ron Nelson "Fuck It" List. In
other words things that I say, "Fuck it; I ain't doing it" to. For the sake of brevity, I've made the list short and
categorized it for easy reading. (like my shit is hard to follow)
Category 1: Sex
Honestly, there's not much I won't do when it comes to sex. As a friend once said, "Sex is like pizza. No matter how
bad it is, it's still really good." So with that, what would I object to? Lots. Remember, sex is awfully large umbrella
with all kinds of little oddities under it (bestiality, incest, necrophilia, all that good stuff), and even I have my limits.
First off, I probably will never have sex with a hooker. I know this ends up on a lot of those "Before I Die" lists, and I
can only imagine why. See, thanks to Pretty Woman and movies like that, we all think hookers are sexy, disease
free nymphets willing to satisfy our every sexual desire, no matter how depraved (think, Cleveland Steamer). Well,
this is only half true. They are willing to do most anything. . .for a price. The fantasy about them being a) beautiful
(Julia Roberts beautiful? Cute, OK. . .beautiful? Not so much) and b) disease-free is a joke. I live in Anaheim
between two (former) hot spots of hookerdom. I've seen my share and none looked like Julia Roberts. Hell, none of
them looked remotely like a porn star. Most were fat, no obese, toothless, horribly dressed, and addicted to some
type of narcotic (OK, I'm assuming here, but they were so fucking messed up that they had to be on something if
they thought they were even close to attractive. . . as a matter of fact, I wonder how most of them made enough to
score a dime-bag or a taste of meth?) So, I have no interest in handing over my hard earned cash to one of these
walking cesspools so she can let me take a shit on her chest after she has sucked my brains through my wing-ding.
Believe it or not, this also includes "happy endings" at a massage parlor (do they still call them "massage parlors?").
By now, the happy ending has become so cliche, or at least renown, that one takes the risk of being arrested
should one get a mediocre rub down from a recent immigrant from Thailand who just happens to be willing to work
the kinks out in the most private of places. The papers are full of stories about nice young men ending up with a
sex crime rap sheet because they fell in the "you want happy ending" trap set by the local P.D. Not this bright
young man; no sir. Besides, I'm married.
Another thing I likely won't do (again) is anal sex. Not as a receiver mind you; I've never had that experience and
never will barring an unforeseen trip to prison or the Castro District. No, I'm talking as a pitcher. The Giver. The
sticker; not stickee. See, back in my younger days certain women would allow you to do that to them for fun. The
woman really gets no pleasure out of it (not unlike vaginal sex) and it's painful (so I'm told). As for me, I just felt
creepy. Also, there's just something homo-erotic about wanting to plow your woman in the ass when there's a
perfectly good opening just millimeters away. Plus, if you go in the right hole, you don't have to wash your dick off
right after. So, no ass play for me. You are what you eat, so call me a big pussy.
I could go on about sex (and who wouldn't want to), but suffice it to say I won't have sex on or in an airplane, on a
beach, on a train, or at work. I've had it outdoors, in front of other people (although they didn't know it), on a Sea-
Doo in the middle of a lake, in a hot tub, in a bathroom at a wedding. Plenty of places, so I don't need the thrills. At
this point in life, sex is good as long as I'm getting it.
Category 2: "Adventure"
Notice how I put "Adventure" in quotes? Thereâ's a reason. What most people consider "adventure," I consider
"stupid." Letss start with the obvious and cliche; skydiving. Why is it that whenever some sad sack-o-shit gets to
be 80 or on death's doorstep, he or she wants to jump out of an airplane at 10,000 feet relying on a 144 square foot
piece of silk to stop them from achieving terminal velocity and becoming a human pancake. A dead human
pancake. A pancake that bounced shortly before it died. It makes no sense. Was his or her life so boring that the
only way for them to feel alive just before death is to tempt death? Does that make sense? Didn't think so. Most of
these poor fucks spent their entire life in a dead-end job, married to the same miserable lout (male or female),
having their balls (or tits) handed to them day after day by some meat grinder for a boss only to come home to a
healthy berating at the hands of the spouse/lout or their greedy kids. (Sorry, that was a little close to home. . .but
definitely cathartic) No wonder these idiots want to jump out of a plane; they're hoping the fucking chute doesn't
open and they don't have to go back and explain why they just paid a former crop duster to take them up to 10,000
feet and push their sorry ass out. 'Gee honey, it seemed like a good deal. . .I got a free picture.' Retards. Maybe
more of them should take it up.
See, me and gravity have an arrangement. I will gladly succumb to its pull while on the ground and not tempt it to
pull me through the earth's crust should I try something stupid, like jumping out of a plane. It works well for me. I
have no real fear of heights. I fly with little or no anxiety. Tall buildings do not freak me out (they bother the shit out
of the wife) and I enjoy the view when I'm in them. What I don't do is fly in a plane with the door open nor do I go to
the top of a skyscraper that has no windows. See, I don't tempt gravity and gravity don't pull me down. . .too far.
For me, the same goes for “extreme sports." You won't see me on the slopes, in the desert, or riding a wave
anytime soon. Like I said, me and gravity got a thing and it's good. I also don't like the idea of being dragged
behind a boat by a drunk around a lake filled with other drunks pulling poor idiots around the lake. I've been there
and it's death-defying. Now, I do admit to driving a Sea-Doo around a lake (see sex story above). At least when I'm
driving, I'm not at some other idiot's mercy. If I run into something, it's my fault. Probably why I like driving so much.
I'm a control freak at heart. Some would say just a freak, period.
Category 3: Travel
People who are ready to die want to go to Africa. Is this to speed things along? Do they want to find the Nigerian
who scammed them out of their life savings? Get a boatload of shots to vaccinate them against diseases they'll
never get? Beat Madonna and Angelina to adopt the Malawian baby? No. They want to see a lion close up. They
want to be charged by a raging elephant. They want to see giraffes eating leaves off the top of a fucking tree.
Have they heard of a zoo? I've been to one; they have all those animals and more. Hell, I hate the zoo. I’ll take
Sea World any day. They have free beer there. Bet they don't have free beer in Africa. So, before I die should I go
to a godawful hot continent full of wild animals and disease, or Hawaii? Give me a minu-HAWAII. Now,
motherfucker.
See, I have simple tastes and goals. If a place has a pleasant climate, a beach, booze, and a casino; I'm in. The
beach is optional. I tend to make the most of my vacations; I don't need them to attempt to murder me in the
process. Although I would like to get my hands on the Nigerian scammer who made off with $5,000 of my hard
earned cash and never got me that $47 million he promised me. I'd even go back on that whole "no anal sex" thing
just for him.
Also on my Fuck It List: China, the Great Pyramids at Giza, Russia, Alaska (although there are times of weakness
when I think maybe), most eastern European nations, most of the middle United States, and most of Mexico. I think
I can live with my miserable experience in life having never seen these places and I think they can live without my
tourism dollars.
Category 4: Enlightenment
People who are close to death or who have lived a miserable, pitiful life always go on some dumbass quest to fill
their spiritual void. I can save them all a lot of time and trouble as I have found my void-filler: Budweiser. But let's
take a look at what I won't be doing anytime soon.
First, I'm not going to get all Buddhist on anyone. I like a lot of what I see in the religion, but I don't see a trip to India
in my future. Nor do I see myself becoming a vegetarian. Both seem to be a on the lists of the soon-to-be-dead.
People close to death look for the answers. When they burn through all the big Judeo-Christian-Islam options, they
look East. Buddhism is easy because it's all about being nice. We're all connected. So if I hurt you, I end up hurting
me. I get it. But don't expect me to go around like some drunk on his 8th step towards recovery and go around
making amends for all my wrongdoings. I might apologize to my wife for throwing up on our anniversary (like I
haven't already done that about a thousand times) because the stupid bartenders at Buffalo Bill's poured me two
huge shots of Jaegermeister and I had been drinking all day with her and our friends while losing most of my
money. Haven't touched Jaeger since. But I digress. . .
Like I said, most of the soon-to-depart, serial killers, child molesters, and rapists seem to find Jesus when the chips
are down (for the cons, it's right about the time their first parole hearing comes up). Again, they were looking for
answers and they got the Bible. Funny thing is most are just looking for something in the "asset" column when they
get to the Pearly Gates. See, I don't buy into the whole "Pearly Gates" guilt trip. I have a hard time believing that
when I die some dude who followed Jesus around Israel for a few years is going to read from a big book about all
the things I did while alive and, after applying the proper algorithm, decides whether I get in and get my mansion
and virgins, or I go down and smoke turds in Hell while standing waist-deep in human remains (sort of sounds like a
Slayer video, don't it). Sure. See, most recent converts are looking for the "Get Into Heaven Free" card; the old "I
accepted Jesus as my Lord and Savior so all is forgiven" line. For the Catholics, it goes so far as to give Last
Rights on their deathbed just in case they kick off with unrepented sins. Don't want to get all the way to the Gates
and be told, "Sorry, Charlie" just because a priest forgot to splash a little water on your head, do you? I certainly
hope I don't end up like that, but you never know. When faced with death, I could be just as big a pussy as those
with lists wanting to get their shit right with the J-Man. Like the name of the list says,"Fuck It" I'm not going out like
that.
W.W.R.D?
You know what I would not do. So what would I like to do? Truth is not a lot more than what I'm doing now. Sex?
Yes, please. But just with the same woman I've been doing it with for the past 18 years. A little more often wouldn't
kill me, although she claims it might kill her. Travel? Sure, but I'm going to places without angry mobs roaming the
streets or wild animals looking at me like I was the last pork chop on the plate. I want to finally go to one of the
lesser populated islands in Hawaii. I'd like to go back to the U.K. I've been there; I liked it; I'm going back. The rest
of Europe? The jury's still out. They sometimes have that "angry mob" thing going on over there. Adventure? I
gamble more than I should and that provides me the adrenaline rush I desire. I will admit to a desire to drive a really
fast car on an open track. That would be cool and would likely not bring about my untimely demise.
So now you know what I want to do and what I won't do. One other thing you won't see me doing? Spending my
hard earned money on a turkey like The Bucket List.
This essay is dedicated to my late father-in-law Tom Seifritz. A man who lived life in the proper proportions, went
where he wanted, drank good wine and beer, enjoyed good food, and was never afraid to tell my mother-in-law to
stick it up her ass, unlike the rest of us.
Fair winds, Tom.