If I were an elderly expat living abroad - as I will hopefully be one day – dying and what they do with my body would be the least of my concerns, what would really worry me is what would happen to me if became physically or mentally disabled as a result of old age.
I remember when I was younger and really boozing and drugging bad,my father pulled me aside and asked me to get insurance so that he and my Mom wouldn't have to pay to bury me.My response then is as it is now.do you think I give a fuck what happens to me after I'm dead?Dead is dead.Throw me in the river and let the crabs eat me.(or pigs if they are your preference.)Anything that happens after your death is for the remaing living and is purely self-centered because as I stated above....Dead is dead!!!!
I've told all my friends(ain't got no family)not to waste any money trying to have a funeral or bury me.......save the money and go chasing women(or men)
If you think it's love try not paying in the morning..
"Do not regret growing older. It is a privilege denied to many."
Again...........Don't waste any money taking care of my DEAD body.I'm telling you I won't be mad!!!
Until now I have refrained from responding head on to this vile and unjustified slur, but after the events of this morning I can restrain myself no longer.
Robert and his friend invited me to meet them at La Sirena, the large household store in Puerto Plata for a meal on Robert's tab. But first Robert needed a few items for the lovenest he is feathering in La Mulata.
After mincing round the aisles for an eternity, he eventually located and selected a frilly apron and fluffy slippers. Then he went to buy a washing-up rack. They were available in white, ivory, yellow or sky blue. Robert, however, pounced on this one, and continued to fondle it for the rest of the visit.
Can you spell hypocrite? A man who freely chooses this color to have in his kitchen is making snide allegations about my sexual orientation! Even the check-out girls and the mother sitting at the next table in the cafeteria were sn i g g e r ing. Robert just dug himself deeper by saying it would match his pink rugs and pink toilet-cleaning brush.
He has been persistently inviting me to spend a night in his house. I took this at face value as a kind gesture. But I don't want to sleep under the same roof as that shocking pink dish rack.
And I haven't even mentioned his shirt. I am pretty sure it is one that Tropic Bob used to mop up excess sperm on his last visit then threw in a wastebin at Rocky's. I know Robert is on a tight budget, but has the man no self-respect?
I feel violated. You told me that photo was going to be used for the next cover of Good Housekeeping! Instead you use it in a frail attempt to humiliate me? Obviously character, honesty and integrity are not your strong suits. However, I must admit that when it comes to scoring Hatian toto you have no peers. And as far as my attire goes; If you knew the shirt was sperm laden why didn't you tell me to wash it before I wore it? That would have been the decent thing to do.
Our local 100 year old cemetery in Amish country is an old Indian mound with a 360 view, I purchased the last lot smack on the top and want an obelisk stone with a lightening rod on top. Epitaph to read "Feel the power of God"
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