My Guarantee       Since the end of the year is nearing, I think it’s a good time to entertain the idea of a class reunion. It’ll be a time for reminiscing and “catching up” and (to some) will be fun. This notion brings a supposition, no, a guarantee to mind. What is it? It’s that at least 15 people of our class will be dead before the first reunion (10 years, I think), and I’m not counting murders, capital punishment or prison suicides (or similar suicides). You may think at least 15 isn’t reasonable but you’re wrong.        First of all, I would be a good candidate for being dead within 10 years. Here’s the scenario: Nine years after graduation and eight years of alcoholism (because of not being able to get laid), I somehow manage to contract cirrhosis of the liver and a plethora of venereal diseases from sleeping with whores (also because I can’t seem to get laid). All this leads to chronic depression (and itching) so I decide to commit suicide, probably by gunshot or something. Great future I predict for myself, huh?       Next up, no less than five people will die of some kind of overdose. They can go many ways: coke, alcohol, heroin, novocaine, and mixtures of all sorts of crap. For good measure I’ll say that two die from coke, one heroin, one a mixture of vodka, marijuana and lead (yes, lead), and another of ecstasy and aspirin. That should cover it, don’t you think?       Hey, you know those really fat kids? I’ll bet you 50 bucks one them’s dead before the reunion. My prediction: Heart Attack before the age of 27. The sad part is, it’ll most likely happen.       Although the former (the one before the last one) was a bit obscure, this one is extremely obvious. Death by motor coach, that’ll be the way some one goes (motor coach means car by the way). I told you it was obvious. Thousands of people die in car accidents every year, it’s a fact.       One more will end up dead of depression. This’ll stem from being considered a failure by peers and family (or failing in the family “business”). This poor soul will apparently commit suicide in some way. Though gunshot is the easiest way, this guy will obviously chose a more torturous death, like burning himself alive, because he thinks he doesn’t deserve the easy way out a gun would provide. For some odd reason the letters “G S” and “P L” come to mind. I wonder?       Obscurity reigns supreme in this guarantee, does it not? But the next one is as feasible as apple pie (good one, eh?).  Hobos are all over and come from many backgrounds, so, of course, Gates-Chili will undeniably contribute its share, which will be quite large, I presume. And hobos, as we all know, live in the streets (alleys actually) and are exposed to all the harsh conditions. These conditions will eventually do their toll on some poor hobo and he’ll be found dead in his packaging receptacle in an alley. Sad, but true and somewhat funny for some odd reason.        On a depressing note (as if this hasn’t been depressing enough (oh wait… it hasn’t)), two people will die of cancer. No jokes about this one, seriously, no jokes. I predict one dead of leukemia and the other lung cancer. Truth: cigarettes cause cancer. Truth: who cares, you can get cancer anyway. (Damn commercials). Hopefully a cure for cancer is found by the reunion (it won’t, my prophecy will come to pass).       Small pox, yes this archaic disease will return to claim another victim (yes, just one). A seemingly extinct disease returning to wreak havoc? Quite simply, yes.       Contrary to the abstruse idea of small pox returning is dying at the hands of an “extreme” sport (snowboarding and skateboarding extreme, ha).  No less than one person will die doing a real extreme sport, like skydiving or racing to the edge of dead man’s ridge while under the influence of no less than one bottle (maybe not the whole bottle) of alcohol (now that’s extreme).       The last but certainly not least is the poor chap that has one of those really rare diseases. I’m talking about one so rare that they name it after him (y’know, like Lou Gehrig’s). It’ll really suck being this guy. I mean really, really suck, really.       These predictions will realize. Really, no joke, I’m a great prophet like Nostradamus. You’ll see. See you at the reunion… oh, I’m supposed to be dead, I forgot. Well, I’ll be a ghost then, yeah, that’s the ticket.