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Dos Factotum » Archive » What I Hope Happens: The Bucket List

What I Hope Happens: The Bucket List

January 20th, 2008

A segment in which somewhat experienced webeditor and blogger Ryan Grim describes what he would like various movies, television programs and books to be about.

A recently retired hospital administrator known for his strict two-patients-per-room policy contracts pneumonia and is placed against his will in a hospital room with a wise, slow-talking black man of the same age. The first guy, who’s white, isn’t a textbook racist, but you can tell he kind of used to be one. Needless to say, he wants his own room but the hospital worker, played by gayest guy from Will & Grace, says “rules are rules.”

The black guy and the white guy only start bonding when they realize, hey, we’re both old and sickly, our lives have been more or less banal and death is immanent.

OK, so they’re in the hospital room and the white guy proposes they make bucket lists because one of his college professors said they’re neat. (A bucket list is a list of things you’d like to do before you kick the bucket, you idiot.) He calls the nurse and asks for paper and pens. They start making their bucket lists. One of the items on the white guy’s list is “Go skydiving with a black guy.”

They break out of the hospital and go skydiving. They drive expensive cars. They go swimming only five minutes after eating a hearty meal.

The black guy goes home to his once attractive wife (a retired librarian who still volunteers). She asks him why he’s been doing all this weird stuff. He explains the bucket list and the white guy and their bond. She makes her own bucket list. The first item is “Get a divorce.”

The black guy, now drunk and crying, drives into a bad part of town. (The town is Champaign, Illinois.) He goes into a bar called Sourpuss, or The Ole Yodeler. And what serendipity: there’s the white guy sucking gin out of limes at the end of the bar. They move to a table and talk about sports. And the progress they’ve made on their bucket lists.

The white guy proposes they go to France together. (It’s No. 5 on his BL.) The black guy, being retired, technically separated from his wife and fucking rich, can’t think of a reason why not, so they go to the airport.

There aren’t any flights until seven the next morning so they check in at the nearby Red Roof Inn. The white guy doesn’t mind sharing a room with the black guy anymore. He’s a dynamic character in that respect. The black guy learns that “Order porn at a hotel” is No. 12 on the white guy’s bucket list.

The next morning they fly to Paris. They eat escargot. They visit a nude beach. The black guy gets a full balls, ass and taint wax, which is surprisingly high on his bucket list.

They tell a cabbie to take them where the whores hang out.

While twiddling a 30-euro putain, the white guy realizes there is more to life than writing lists of activities and then doing the activities on the list. He tells this to the black guy, who is in the same hotel room taking care of list items 17 through 20, which I won’t describe because my family members/employers may read this someday.

The black guy agrees. Bucket lists are no fun. He misses his wife and the things she does to him after drinking two glasses of white zin. He calls the house and prepares to beg. A man answers. The man says “It’s for you, baby.” The black guy is so pissed he chucks the hollowed-out pig carcasses at the tiniest whore.

The two guys fly back to the States the next day. They buy a sword and some knives at the Renaissance Festival. The white guy wants to buy a mace but he doesn’t have enough cash. The black guy offers to spot him. “Naw, it’s just a mace. I mean, when could I use it other than today?”

They drive to the black guy’s house. His wife’s car is in the driveway, along with a red Porsche. Possibly expecting such an attack, she had changed the locks. The guys try to pick them. Nothing. They go around to the back deck, but still no luck.

The white guy says “Fuck it.”

He starts the black guy’s Lincoln Town Car and drives around the block to build up speed. The black guy likes what he’s seeing. The white guy, now going about 40 mph, drives up the lawn and crashes into the front door. Bricks and other house shit fall to the roof of the car. The airbag hurts the white guy’s face but he’s OK otherwise.

The black guy, with a knife in each hand, crawls over the car and through the rubble. He cuts is own palm and licks the wound, just to get a taste.

There’s screaming coming from the kitchen. The new man, who is white and fat, is wondering what the hell is going on.

The black guy enters the kitchen. The fat white guy, whom I’ll call Porsche from now on, asks him what he is doing.

“Crossing you off my bucket list,” he says, and flings the knife point first at Porsche. It hits his sternum. As he expires, he says “Bucket list?”

The wife throws the blender at the black guy, then the toaster and some large spoons, but it’s no use. She’s next and she knows it. She tries begging him. She promises him she won’t call the cops, and that things could return to what they once were, if that’s what he wants.

“Just tell me want you want,” she says.

“I wanted you to respect my bucket list, but it’s too late for that.”

Or: “I want you to kick the bucket.”

Or: He charges at her while screaming “Bucket list!” and stabs her a lot in the face and neck.

He gets a pen from his office and pulls the now-bloody BL from his back pocket. “Never thought I’d get to this one,” he says while crossing off No. 225: “Commit murder without a gun.”

Outside, the white guy is trying to hotwire Porche’s Porsche. The black guy comes out through the garage door and tosses him the dead guy’s keys.

“Yahtzee,” the white guy says.

They drive to Lake Tahoe. They dine at dash at a Rally’s, which is No. 175 on the white guy’s list AND the black guy’s list. They go fishing (not on either list).

They buy a condo and hang out for a year.

One day, they convince themselves they will live forever if they take other people’s lives—one year of extended life for each person murdered. (Between this and the guacamole on the walls, it’s clear that dementia has set in.)

The Lake Tahoe chief of police has his own bucket list. It has one item: capture and kill anyone who commits murder in Lake Tahoe. This bucket list is written in blood. His wife’s sister’s blood. (She was a murderer whom he captured and killed.)

Before the guys have a chance to kill anyone in Tahoe, they simultaneously have massive heart attacks while jogging. The chief of police happens to be power walking in the same park and sees the two geezers writhing on the grass. He tries to resuscitate them, vigorously breathing into their mouths. He pounds on their chests. He curses God. Little does he know he’s trying to save the two of the most determined murderers in film history.

And kids, they were determined because they made a list. Really, you should make a list. It’ll help you get stuff done.

3 Responses to “What I Hope Happens: The Bucket List

  1. Alex Says:

    Holy shit, Ryan. That was amazing.

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