On Brain Damage

If one day Jean-Francois becomes no more than a lamp in a corner, unable to eat, talk, listen, disagree, wipe his own ass, go out in a drinking spree, make love and French-kiss by his own, please let him go. If one day he has to be plugged to any machine in order to be kept in this planet, please remember how much he liked to watch "MTV Unplugged" and do the same: unplug him.

If one day he can't chew those ribs from Ruby Tuesday's that he likes so much; or if he can't have those two pounds of pasta with a ton of Parmesan cheese on top of it for lunch; or if he can't kiss and tell anymore; or if you don't know what the fuck Jean-Francois wants because he just can't say a full sentence without sounding like a new born, please, cut the electricity and let him go to hell once and for all.

If somehow you unplug the good old Jean-Fran and he doesn't passes away, do not stick anything in his arm or his stomach in order to feed and hydrate him -unless is plenty of Vodka and Redbull, of course. Just leave him in a room with the Playboy channel on and check back on him few weeks later when it starts to smell like if something rotten was in the room.

If you have a doubt about Jean-Francois' condition and the doctors, fortune tellers and witches don't know what's wrong with him or if he would ever wake up again, don't hesitate; unplug him and let him go. If you think that Jean-Francois wouldn't have liked to live like that, or maybe if you believe that he would have liked to just wait and see if there's any chance of him getting better, let me tell you one thing: you and I don't know what the fuck is going on with me, so just go ahead and unplug me. If that was the right decision, then you'll earn kudos in order to go to heaven, if somehow I could have gotten better and you screw it up, don't worry: I'll be waiting for you in hell so that we can go and hang out there.

If my parents or siblings or girlfriend or wife or perhaps my husband (who knows?) or if maybe the courts and Congress and the President and everybody says that I have to be kept in this world, you just call animal control and tell them that I'm a mutation of a German Shepperd and to please take this few greens and put him to sleep or just go and get rid of him. Throw him in a dumpster if you wish but I advise you not to take his kidney out and try to sell it because he liked to drink too much and that thing must be pretty much fucked up beyond recovery just like his brain.

And I dare you to call the TV cameras in and make a three ring circus out of poor Jean-Francois. If that happens I'm sure I'll get better immediately, waking up and walking to the nearest gun shop and starting a killing spree around town and causing such commotion that everybody would agree to put me in the electric chair right away!