Well. We did it old friend. We made it to 2012. We squeaked in those three years between the cancer diagnosis and the end of the world. And they said it couldn't be done. Well. Okay. They never really said that. But for the sake of keeping things dramatic, I'm gonna leave it in there because this is my blog and I like everything to have dramatic flare.
But honestly, how could I have done it without you? You taught me everything I know about life. You taught me that it's possible to personally and completely offend every single person who ever lived, ever. You don't leave anyone out. No, no. You know how to offend people of every race, background, religion, and political party...and I think that that's great.
So great, in fact, that by the time you got around to making tasteless jokes about cancer...I found it hilarious. You taught me how to laugh at all of the shit that was happening to me. And that is very important. If you can't laugh at yourself...well, frankly...you kind of suck.
You see, a lot of people don't like you, Peter Griffin. They don't like your show. They hate it because you can be so offensive. But what they fail to realize...is that you are just pointing out the faults and failings of a society that takes itself too seriously. No one wants to laugh at how ridiculously awful life can be...but if you don't...you're just contributing to the awfulness. That's what this kid thinks. Yeahhh. Think about it. It's kind of trippy.
If there's one thing a cancer patient can't do...it's take life too seriously...because after all...he/she's seriously in some serious, serious, serious shit already. Seriously. I'm serious. So why not put on some Family Guy and laugh at other people's expense? And then laugh when the joke is at your own expense? After all...if you can't have a good sense of humor...you'll never make it through the trials and tribulations of life with all of your sanity.
So thanks for that too, I guess. Thanks for keeping me sane. If it weren't for you, poop jokes, anti-depressants, and oxycodone...I wouldn't be the charming, witty, and lovable chick I am today (haha).
Thank you. Thank you a million times. I am forever in your debt. Forget the doctors, nurses, chemotherapy, radiation and whatever the hell else...the cure for cancer is Peter Griffin (and the doctors, nurses, chemotherapy, radiation and whatever the hell else). Ha.
I guess what I'm trying to say is that laughter is the best medicine, and that a good sense of humor can cure even the weakest of souls. I can't get everyone to like you, Peter Griffin. But maybe I can get them to like what you stand for. Even if what you stand for is poop, beer, farts, and vulgarity.
There's a lesson in there somewhere, folks. Just figure it out for yourselves because I'm too tired.
I love you, Peter Griffin. Now and forever.
Love,
Jesse
PS. What happened to Reuben Studdard? Idk. Random thought.
No comments:
Post a Comment