Things to Do in the Last Moments of Your Life After You've Noticed Your
Parachute Just Didn't Open
Regret lobbying against that marshmallow factory being built by the highway.
Just cross your arms and resolve to absolutely, defiantly, decidedly NOT
flap them.
Use the contents of your pack to enjoy a nice picnic last meal.
Aim for Phil Witterson's Porsche, that'll teach that prick to drive such a
nice car.
Renounce Physics, and bend gravity to your will.
Sing a rousing rendition of Tom Petty's "Free Fallin'"
Curse creatively.
No arm flapping at all. A little dignity at the end, please.
Wish you'd started smoking, since clearly lung cancer can't get you now.
Go through five stages of grief, then fit in a nap.
Hyperventilate until you pass out.
Perform that self-appendectomy you've been meaning to get to.
Teach yourself to play the trombone.
Seriously, not flapping arms.
Take out your cell phone. The girl you've always loved but never been able
to tell? Call her and tell her. Tell her everything she's always meant to
you. Then tell her you just fell out of an air plane without a parachute.
Tell her that you'll love her till the day you die. You should add that
last part as a sort of joke so she doesn't get too sad.
Call information and get the number for a law office. See if you can get a
lawyer. See if he can put your "affairs" in order. I've never had a lawyer
but even *I* know your "affairs" are supposed to be "in order."
Try falling up. You just never know.
Quickly learn the language of the birds and convince a flock of sparrows
to slow your plummet to a gentle downward drift.
Hum John William's rousing score while pretending to be Superman coming in
for a landing.
You are NOT going to look like a desperate idiot flapping his arms. Not now.
Fill out the checkbox on the back of your driver's license that donates
your internal organs to scientific mush.
Use the fact that your life is flashing before your eyes to review that
crazy night with Tricia Rotiroti and her mom.
Call your boss and tell him he can take your job and plummet... oops...
did I say "plummet?", I meant "shove it".
Strike up a rendition of Sinatra's "Come Fly With Me".
Look for someone on the ground and scream "I don't mind the falling, it's
the landing that's tough."
Call the house below you on your cell phone and warn them that you might
be dropping in.
Shake your fist in the air and yell "curse you Red Baron".
Don't scream "Geronimo", it makes absolutely no sense. Instead scream
"Galileo." Screaming "Galileo", though stupid, makes some kind of sense.
DEAR GOD, FLAP THOSE ARMS! FLAP THEM LIKE THERE'S NO TOMORROW! FLAP, I SAY!!
Signs Your Kid Spends Too Much Time Reading Harry Potter Books
Whenever you suggest a different book they say, "I don't know... does our
lord Satan approve of it?"
Constantly referring to annoying little brother as "He Who Must Not Be
Named."
Talks about taking a magical train to a hidden world where paintings move
and talk and trees try to smash things and wizards and dragons fly around
(WARNING: may also be a sign your kid is on LSD).
Whenever you suggest a different book they say, "Does it involve Harry
Potter?"
When asked to choose a book for your reading group, usually suggests Harry
Potter books.
Says his eyes are hurting him, and he could use reading glasses. Black,
circular reading glasses.
Believes he lives in a world where an elite society with magical powers
exists in secret from the normal people, who they control and despise.
(WARNING: May also be a sign your child is Ralph Nader)
At his little league soccer game, he just runs around the field aimlessly,
paying NO attention to the rest of the game, but intent on catching a
particular bumble bee. When he catches it he yells, "WE WIN! WE WIN!" And
then "OWWWWWWWWWWW!" (WARNING: This may also be a sign that you should
just let him take the dance classes he wanted instead of forcing him to
play soccer.)
Thinks recieving a disfiguring facial scar is "way cool." Sometimes
lingers while crossing busy streets.
Insisted on a pet owl, and is constantly disappointed when it brings him
field mice instead of mail.
Has not been meeting his quota of wallets or athletic shoes. Maybe some
time in the box will help....
His skin has turned pale and clammy. His eyes, overlarge, and sunken in.
He doesn't eat, piddles right where he is, and hardly ever moves except to
flip a well worn page.
Has ruined all the pots and pans trying to make magic potions
Stands in front of the mirror, claiming it's a magic mirror that lets him
see what would make him most happy. When you smirk and ask him what he
sees, he responds, "Well for starters, a parent that's more supportive of
my craft and not such a sarcastic jerk all the time!"
Seems to think that Myrtle, the girl two flats up who's always bringing
home different men, is a ghost.
Is often found in the kitchen wearing a cape and straddling a broom.
(WARNING: may also be a sign that your kid is goth and bi-curious)
Speaks parseltongue fluently enough to make partner in his midtown
manhattan law firm.
Makes casual "parseltongue" references in conversation and just assumes
everyone will know what he's talking about.
Daniel Radcliffe posters cure child of longtime debilitating "Billy
Elliot" crush.
Frequently turns in current events papers on "Harry Potter and the Chamber
of Commerce"
She locks herself in a bank vault in order to have time to read, read,
read and be left alone to read.
Every time you see your kid, they're reading a Harry Potter book.
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ive been looking everywhere for a njrotc layout but i could never find
one so i had to request it. ill keep it 4 now but imma try 2 find a
layout thats a bit more elaborate than this one hopefully cuz this
one's a lil plain
. all 4 now
I adopted a cute lil' baby jesus fetus
from Fetusmart! Hooray fetus!
