(Disclaimer: My brother and I have a somewhat light-hearted approach to death. We are all very respectively of death and the dignity of life, but a lack of fear leads to conversations that may not seem too funny to some people.)
Background: I received an email with the preliminary baseball road trips for 2010 from Sports Travel and Tours yesterday. I know that Eric Karros is on the ballot for the baseball Hall of Fame so I texted my little brother and told him we should go. This is the texted conversation that resulted:
Little Brother: Let’s go right now!
Me: It’s drenched in snow. We’d die.
Me: You want your parting moments on earth to be at the baseball hall of fame?
LB: That’d be cool.
Me: Haha. You’re funny.
LB: You should probably die at Dodger Stadium. I’ll buy the team and bury you under the pitcher’s mound. Haha. Then the rubber thing could be a grave stone instead!
Me: Hillllllllarious. I always used to say that I wanted to be buried in the bullpen! That’s genius about the gravestone.
LB: Haha. The bullpen sucks. You should be buried under the away team dugout so you can haunt them.
Me: That’s a great idea, but I like the mound idea. You should really make that happen.
LB: Haha. Ok I will.
I seriously wish I was making this stuff up.