If, by majority vote, it is decided that I am officially losing my mind, I do NOT wish to be punched by a robot.
If, in the opinion of my peers, I have gained enough weight to no longer be a viable peer, I DO wish to be crushed by a sumo wrestler.
If, after much consideration, it is not likely I will recover from Tourette Syndrome, I do NOT wish to be bitten on the elbow by a hamster.
If, after much admonishment, I continue listening to Neil Diamond, Elton John, or Barry Manilow, I DO NOT wish to be incarcerated in an elevator playing Muzak.
If, through no fault of my own, my hair begins to fall out and my skin turns a putrid shade of green, I DO wish to be dressed daily in a fluorescent pink HazMat suit.
If, for all intents and purposes, I am no longer able to drive safely, I do NOT wish to be placed in a pine tree and fed carrion.
If, by some miracle, I no longer am feeding myself, I do NOT wish to be fed carbs and fats; this blessing will have been long overdue.
If, upon hearing of political or other ridiculous situations, I begin kicking holes in sheetrock, I DO wish to be hung upside-down and swatted with a feather duster.
If, in the observation of my closest loved ones, I have lost my ability to cook, I do NOT wish to receive 3rd-degree burns from an exploding lava lamp.
If, for some reason, I become permanently insane, indecent, or incontinent, I DO wish to be placed in the care of a Newfoundland, Spaniel, or Labrador.
If, by some long shot, I’m still alive after 90 years of age, I DO wish to be seated in a canoe in my front yard on Thursdays.
If, Heaven forbid, I have not been provided a Cadillac or Lincoln by that time, I do NOT wish to be buried in my Honda.