Dylan Bolin

I’ve recently announced my desire to be a Death Coach.  It’s like a Life Coach, but approaches the subject from a different perspective.

As an introductory offer, for a limited time only, hire me as your Death Coach and I’ll include $100,000 worth of Death Assurance as well.

Surely, someone has tried to sell you Life Insurance, but no phrase has ever been more of a misnomer.  Insuring life?  Immortality for 30 bucks a month?  Preposterous!  And yet we gladly pay it the premiums.

What I’m offering is Death Assurance.  Every day, at a time of your choosing, I will call you to remind you that you are going to die.  I assure you, it’s going to happen, and you can’t stop it.

Is there a better motivator than that?  A cup of coffee and your pending mortality.  Bring on the day!

Please note that I am NOT offering Death Insurance.  That implies a much more active role on my part.  I have no interest in following you around, insuring that you’re going to die.  Besides, I think there are laws prohibiting that.

Dylan Bolin Death Coaching:  “Let me help you walk up to Life and sucker-punch it.”

Now with Death Assurance!

-Dylan

…a woman in a wheelchair was shouted down at a New Jersey town hall as she attempted to plead her case.

I just returned from a show at Marquette University where, for whatever reason, exactly half of the crowd began booing at the mere mention of President Obama’s name.

My friends, at this rate, we are two years from Mad Max’s Thunderdome.

I’ve made several jokes at the expense of the health care debate, but there’s something I’d like to say in all seriousness, and I’m paying my web host, so I’m going to say it here:  Make sure you’re on the right side on this one.

If, in your heart, you believe that our country will be worse as a result of insurance for all, if you believe that the government is going to kill your family while raising your taxes because, well, because they want to.  Surely the governement has it’s reasons.  If this is what you believe, then fight for it with all your heart.

If, in your heart, you believe that Health Care is a basic, human right, and a right that a for-profit corporation doesn’t have the right to give or take away.  Despite the fact that a massive Health Care overhaul will eliminate jobs and increase unemployment on an unfathomable scale unless those same employees become Government employees and are thereby paid with tax dollars not yet factored into any estimates.  If this is what you believe, then fight for it with all your heart.

Please, let us resort to our better natures.  Let us be thoughtful in our disagreements and empathetic in our opinions, because future generations are going to hold us accountable.  I want to tell my kids that I made my decision based on love for my fellow man, and not my fear of of him.  I want to tell my kids that I made my decision based on my love of life, and not my fear of death.

Even if I’m not currently as informed as I should be, I want to have the debate.  I want to know enough that I can say that I was on the side of what was right.  This really feels like one of those defining moments.

Anyway…

I promise I’ll go back to trafficking in fart jokes tomorrow.

-Dylan

I know that there’s recently been a lot of discussion about End of Life decisions.  Some believe a living will is a responsible, empowering thing to do, while others believe that making End of Life decisions will allow a government Death Squad to barge in and start harvesting organs.

I believe that, after I die, I will no longer care about such things, so I should probably say something while I do.

The Last Will and Testament of Dylan Bolin

I, Dylan Bolin, of sound mind and slightly doughier body than I’d like, do hereby bequeath all of my worldly possessions to be returned to their original owners.

If I should die, and my heart should stop beating, resuscitate ONLY if you perform a heart transplant and the doner was a serial killer, and as a result of having his heart in my body, I have the knowledge to solve Cold Cases, but I also exhibit a new-found urge to kill, which I attempt to stifle with the love of a woman.  I’m just saying, I think this could be a series.

As far as my earthly remains are concerned, I have three (3) requests, of which the executor of this will should choose:

    A.  Fill my pockets with candy and throw my body off a building of at least twenty (20) stories.  It will be spectacular, and some people will get candy.

    B.  I would like to be stuffed and mounted.  Perhaps the fingers on one hand could be angled such that they could support a beer can, while the other hand could serve as a pool cue holder.  I would like the look on my face to be friendly but, if possible, I’d like my eyes to appear to follow others in the room.

     C.  I would like to be made into a rug so I may always enjoy a happy hearth with a roaring fire.  And speaking of roaring, in this case, I’d like my face to look ferocious; like I was conquered by the owner of the room.

Sincerely,

Dylan

I know the best way to kill a dream is to share it with others. 

Recently, I expressed a desire to become a State Fair pitch man and was publicly mocked; shamed from greatness.  It was like that episode of Happy Days where Richie wanted to be a dancer and all the guys at Arthur’s laughed at him so he turned to Heroin but was cured when the Fonz slammed his face into the jukebox.  The episode was the television directorial debut of Robert Altman, but it never aired, so I’m not surprised you didn’t see it.  It’s an Easter Egg on the DVD.

My point is that I know a lot about Life.  For instance, Life doesn’t care about you.  That may sound bad, but it’s really not.  Sure, it doesn’t care whether you succeed or not before you die, but it also isn’t out to get you.  It’s perfectly neutral.  Like the way that baseball doesn’t care who wins or loses.  It’s baseball.  Baseball didn’t wake up this morning, eat a piece of toast and decide that, for instance, the Milwaukee Brewers should start choking.  No, baseball doesn’t care…and it doesn’t like toast.

Now, God is a different story.  God has a preference; God judges.  So if you’re trying to please God, you should choose your God wisely and consult one of His representatives for instructions. 

I’m talking about coaching Life. 

I’ve found that the first step on the road to a happy life is being born.  This is crucial.  After that, you’re kind of on your own until the End. 

So, I guess I really want to become a Death Coach.  Death is kind of our World Series, isn’t it?  The BIG Game!  What coach doesn’t prepare his team for the Big Game?

That will be my thing:  I’m a Life Coach, but I work from the other direction (Death), and I coach under the assumption that the opponent (Life) doesn’t care one way or the other.  Like coaching a boxer to beat a random person on the street who doesn’t know that they’re in a fight.

So, let me help you as you march towards Death!  Let me help you walk up to Life and sucker punch it!  Initially, I will work pro bono, so drop me a line with a Death question, and I’ll coach you with a response.

-Dylan, Certified Death Coach

I’ve been watching the various town hall meetings closely.  I haven’t been listening to them however, because every time a person in a suit talks, I yell at the television until my neck and cheeks are red like I learned in Debate Club. 

Anyway, from what I read on the Closed Captioning, you’re forming something called a “Death Panel.”  Aside from being a great name for a new Metal band, I understand that this “panel” will make life and death decisions and mete out insurance coverage accordingly.  I also heard that babies below a certain birth weight will be used for skeet, and that the brittle bones of the elderly will be ground up to make blown-in, attic insulation in conjunction with your new Energy Conservation Plan.

This letter is a request to be a member of the “Death Panel.” 

I’m very intuitive.  For instance, during horror movies, I always know who is going to die next.  Surely that’s a skill that would benefit the panel. 

Also, when I’m driving, I’m very good at picking out who should die.

At seafood restaurants, it’s eerie how accurate I am at choosing which lobster will be the next to go…and at market price.

Until now, I’ve been unable to apply these God-given gifts, but a place on your ”Death Panel” would change all that.  I’ll even provide my own black, hooded cloak. 

Thank you for your consideration.

-Dylan