I admit I had dropped a lot of acid, and that’s why I was standing in a big red barn before the advent of mechanical milking machines.  A caricature of a farmer stood in that barn.  He was wearing  the classic blue overalls with silver buckles located about an inch or two above the nipples on his chest. His thumbs were behind each buckle pushing them out from his chest, but not past his Santa Claus belly.  He was the classic pear shape. His shoes were really a pair of of brown boots which stopped right above his ankles and two inches below his overall bottoms.

The farmer casually strolled over to a goat which was tethered to a wooden knobby tree pole made from a local tree of the past, not like dinosaur past, I’m talking before modern pre-earth contamination past.  The farmer gazed at me thoughtfully, so I believed. He slowly opened his mouth to speak.  I waited.

I thought he was going to spout some down to Earth farm wisdom.  He said, “Son, have you ever sucked a goat’s teat? Goats milk is quite a tasty treat.  Nothing like being suckled by a goat. When we were horny boys, we called it foreplay.  They’s good for lots of thangs, those goats.”  I was stunned.  He smiled a toothy smile and laughed at  me.

I had never seen a farmer dress like this, except on TV, and as far as goat/human sex goes; I saw it in a porno film once and so was a little familiar with the concept.  I, however, reached the conclusion, after some thought, that this particular show might have something to do with the acid I had dropped.

The farmer plopped his big ass on a three legged wooden stool. Ironically or maybe because of environmental consciousness, the stool was carved from the same tree as the tethering pole.

The farmer sat next to this goat which was white with a few brown spots.  He was tugging at the goat’s teats  causing the goat’s milk to splatter into the banged up flat, dull, silvery colored bucket below the goat’s teats.  The goat then to my surprise shook his head in irritation because of some farm bugs and accidentally or intentionally kicked the bucket spilling all the farmer’s milk. Milk which once had belonged to the goat.

Well,  in short that’s one possible explanation for the origin of the phrase “kick the bucket.”

Still floating through the universe on acid, I found myself watching a bunch of evil, dastardly, Satan in boots, chaps over dungarees wearing men with color coordinated checkered shirts, fire engine red scarves, black cowboy hats tipped cooly back on their heads with trail dirt all over their faces except where the Lone Ranger type masks covered the area around their eyes. Lariats hanged loosely over their shoulders and sarcastic grins and smirks crossed their wicked faces.

Standing across from the previously described evil men was a Spanish, chubby, cherub like priest in a brown dusty full length robe, opened toed sandals and  the wooden cross of the Crucified Jesus draped around his neck (like in an old Western movie.)

He, the Priest, looked unsteady.  “OMG,”  I scream to myself, “He’s precariously perched on a flat, dull, silvery colored bucket with a rope noose tied around his neck. The noose was dropping from a heavy limb of a big scary looking tree without leaves.  Trees without leaves are always foreboding.

The meanest of all the meanest men of all the meanest men in the world (God did not have this man in his hands)  slowly laughed and smirked,  a toothpick dangled from between his front teeth as he strolled casually up to the Priest with his best Wicked Witch of the West cackle emanating from his mouth full of rotting teeth.  He screamed, “Adios muchacho!!” Then kicked the bucket from under the Priest. The Priest smiled peacefully ( God did have the Priest in his hands). He dropped, the rope yanked and his neck broke.  The Priest was dead.

Another possible explanation for the origin of the phrase ” kick the bucket.”

There are other messages a person can take from these two stories, but I prefer:  “Don’t expect good things when the bucket is kicked.”   That’s why people want to live their dreams before they die a/k/a “kick the bucket.”  People, for this reason, have decided to make a list of their life dreams.

Lists are not new to people.  There is the “shopping list”, the “to do list,” the “honey do list,”  the “check list” and the “wish list” to name a few.  The list we are discussing is the bucket list.  It is a list a person makes of things he or she would like to see, smell, touch, taste, hear, say or do before he or she dies.

Any person could die at any given time, expected or unexpected throughout the course of his or her life.  Thus, a bucket list is an ever changing and probably growing life extension .  For example, the little, id toddler might have a  bucket list that goes: bottle, food, reluctant nap in big boy or big girl bed, blanky, playing, laughing and occasionally attempting to put little fingers in an electrical socket.  A psychopath’s top ten through top one hundred bucket list might be “murder” another human being using a different method daily. Every person can have a different bucket list and this can change throughout life.  When it comes to bucket lists the “rule is there are no rules.”

As another example, a teenage boy might have getting laid in the top ten spots of his bucket list.  If you made rules and told him he had to have more than one item on the list, he might tell you, “Okay, 1,3,5,7,9 are getting laid; 2,4,6,8,10 are getting blow jobs.  So as to avoid the appearance of discrimination, I can honestly say I am clueless as to what would be on a teenage girl’s bucket list.

It’s difficult being politically correct and discussing the influences that may affect a  person’s bucket list.  As a politically correct society, historical revisionism is supposed to be the truth, and a bucket list should then rightly conform to a removal of our history. Jesus, what are we to do, if we can not have the influences that made us who we are expressed in our bucket lists.  Sorry, about the Jesus comment for anyone offended.  Plus, I don’t want to appear on the bucket list of an atheist. Bucket lists have limitless potential.

Anyhow, here is the bucket list  today of a non-pc 62 year old man who is a mixture of German, Irish, Italian, and Sicilian (as my grandmother used to say) or a Mick, Dago, Kraut, honky, pussy, asshole, legend, hero, silly boy as others would say, a drug abuser, a teacher, a union organizer, a union  member, a lawyer, a seminarian, a Roman Catholic, a Lutheran, a Daoist, a Druid, father five times, a husband three times, a teenage dad, a soccer dad, a good friend, a cruel enemy etc… etc… etc….

There will be ten items in no specific order.

1.  To not die of cancer.  I have watched several loved ones be ravaged by cancer, and I would rather be dead earlier than suffer the way they did.

2.  To continue to experience the wonder of my children and grand children.  All the minutes I spend with them are the best moments I spend in my life.

3.  To survive my forty days and forty nights in the wilderness. I need to rediscover my identity and find a personal motivation for my existence. (not a preliminary notice of suicide).

4.  To be a better friend.

5. “To be forgiven all my trespasses and to forgive all those who trespass against me.”

6.  To tell all the people I care about how I feel about them.

7.  To love one more time.

8.  To enjoy the present.

9. To maintain my integrity.

10.To become a better man.

I know all ten items on my bucket list may sound like platitudes and not interesting.  But, one of the most important things about a bucket list is that it is personal to the person who creates the list. It is like a “road map” for a person’s end of life goals that can change anytime. It doesn’t matter what others think about a another person’s bucket list. It’s not theirs and they are free to choose their own bucket list.





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