# Drills: Print Lowercase

I'm not going to lie; the turnout is pretty depressing. I mean, I get it, it isn't like a wedding where everyone is gathering to celebrate something new. It isn't even as exciting as a graduation party where some privileged douchebag gets to start on "life's next great adventure," which is probably just another series of keggers, but NOT in his dorm room. In that vein, it isn't even as glamourous as a retirement party, for some schmuck lucky enough to get to retire ... y'know, for five years before inflation and medical bills push them back into a workforce that has moved on without them, necessitating a job as a Valu-Mart door-person or a toilet-cleaner at the C&W bar downtown.

I think gravestones should be like tattoos - totally personalized. Not just the words - Here lies Jim; worms tickle - but with every attempt made to recreate the deceased's handwriting. Of course you'd end up with people mourning the wrong doctor's grave.

Good enough for me. What do you do when doctors can't agree what's wrong with you? When the treatment from one diagnosis makes the symptoms of the other diagnosis worse? I guess you go with that one, because the other's treatment can kill you outright, even if you have what it's supposed to treat.

If you could get a headstone like a tattoo, I'd get one of those soundwave tattoos that, when you scan it, plays a sound. It would say, "I'm right behind you!" That'd fuck with some people.