Summer is just around the corner and for the first time in a long time, I'm amping up for a season of nonstop fun! I'm sick and tired of my “adult obligations” making me miss out on the party. I'm through with letting months of sunshine and good times pass me by.

This year, that's all gonna change. This year, I’m making a promise to myself to live life to the fullest. This year, I’m going to fake my own death and have the the best summer ever!

When I start thinking summer, I immediately start thinking baseball. I’m a huge Mets fan, but my boss never let me cut out of work early to catch a day game at Shea. Well, pretty soon finding loving homes for the animals in this city’s overcrowded shelters won’t be my problem. What happens to all those little kitties and doggies is gonna be on whatever poor schmo they hire to fill my spot. Sorry you have to sit in the “dead guy’s chair,” buddy! But once I can save up enough pints of my own blood, it’s gonna be all peanuts and cracker jacks for me. And I don’t care if I ever go back! (Ooh! Creepy! I just noticed that. Is that what that song is about?)

The bummer is that I’ve had to hold off on buying season tickets because my blood storage system is all fucked up. I just had another batch turn on me and I had to throw about three Ziplocs bags worth right in the trash. I’m little frustrated because the Phillies are coming into town this week and I’m kinda back at square one again with the blood thing and my beer fridge is really starting to stink.

I don’t know about you, but whenever the weather starts to warm up, I always seem to get the itch for a little “summer lovin’.” Now, I love my wife. I think she’s fine! But the missus keeps this old poonhound on too short a leash for me to ever “scratch,” if you know what I mean. However, once I’m gone and she has her hands full raising and providing for two young boys all on her own, I’m thinking that the odds of her ever stumbling upon her very-much-alive husband chatting up a couple of cuties on the boardwalk are preeeeeetty low.

What’s that you ask? After seven years of marriage, do I still know how to flirt? Why don’t you ask the lonely morgue technician I’ve been trying to seduce for the last two months. Sure, I had to shake off a little rust at first, but last night, after sharing three bottles of red wine in “Ward X,” she finally showed me which bodies have yet to be identified. Still got it, baby! 

Traveling to all of the dope-ass music festivals around the country used to be the highlight of my summer. Coachella! Burning Man! Red Bull Music Academy! I was at ‘em all. But now my weekends are completely dominated by my kids. If they don’t have me at one of their little soccer games, they want me taking them to museums or helping them build a treehouse. I’ve got no problem doing the whole “Dad” thing, but these dudes just want me to be “on” all the time. And the fact that they don’t seem to give one fuck about Deadmau5 is making it really hard for me to relate to them. Plus, for the past couple of weeks I’ve been staying up all night trying to hack into the servers at my dentist’s office and trash all of my records. The lack of sleep has made me pretty pissy whenever I’m with dealing the boys, so if I’m being perfectly honest with myself, I think that my sudden death might be a welcome change of pace for all of us.

Unfortunately, my life isn’t 24/7 fun in the sun just yet! I’m still working on my “base tan,” so to speak. Before all the road trips and waterparks, I’ve got to publicly demonstrate enough of an interest in the sport of rappelling to make my attempting a solo, face-down descent seem credible to the police. And you can call me superstitious if you want, but I’m saving my first frozen margarita of the season for after all the paperwork for the life-insurance policy I’ve taken out on myself in the name of my senile great-aunt goes through.

I know what you’re probably thinking, but I’m not a bad guy! I’m not leaving my family out in the lurch. The lawn will still get mowed! The kids will get picked up from day camp! After any tragic loss a network of family and friends always comes together to fill in the gaps. Good thing too, because the only “gaps” I want to be filling are the ones in my sunscreen!

This isn’t a forever thing, by the way. I just wanna have some fun and maybe blow off a little steam for a couple of months. When fall’s cool breezes start to blow, I’ll pack up my tank tops and flip flops, book my return ticket from Bud Light’s Whatever, USA, and come on home. 

Surprise! Daddy’s back from the dead and ready to seamlessly reenter your lives!