Lee Pitts: Next
I find the prospect of reincarnation intriguing and have given lots of thought as to what I may have been in the past, and what I want to spend my next life as.
Due to their short lives the idea of being an insect does not appeal to me. Always in the back of one’s microscopic mind would be the terrifying prospect of being murdered by a fly swatter. And insects lead such uncouth lives, vacationing on fresh cow pies and traveling in swarms to hold their conventions in exotic destinations such as trash dumps and rotting carcasses. I bet the thought of spritzing with a sanitizing spray or freshening up with a Handi Wipe never even occurs to an insect.
Being a melon or a stock of corn doesn’t appeal to me either. We all know there is no brain in a head of lettuce and the only thing vegetables do well is vegetate. They never engage in deep thought and I have yet to hear a stimulating discussion between green beans and peas, even though they may be only one row apart. Plants never travel anywhere exciting until after they’re dead, and then they are squeezed and pinched by picky shoppers. I want more out of my next life than that.
Birds are okay and who hasn’t dreamed of soaring with eagles or having a second home in a southern locale? But someone is shooting at you the entire trip. Sure, many birds are protected by the Endangered Species Act, and while being on the government dole might appeal to some, I couldn’t look at myself in the lake. Even though male birds are almost always prettier than the females, as it should be, there’s a chance I could end up with wattles as a member of the poultry community. Being a tom turkey only to end up on someone’s plate with giblet gravy is not my idea of a great Thanksgiving.
I’ve given it a lot of thought and I want to be some kind of mammal in my next life. I’ve never liked hot weather so that rules out being an African lion, a Madagascar monkey or an Australian kangaroo. I don’t like crowds either so I hope I’m not a wildebeest or a water buffalo. No, I think what I want to be is a domesticated farm animal. But not a pig. I would not do well being confined in a small space and can you imagine being a sow? You’d be pregnant almost your entire life and have ten little piggies tugging and biting your belly all the time. And I could never get used to the smell.
Sheep are nice but from the day they are born they seem to spend their entire lives looking for a time and place to die. I’d imagine that kinda takes the fun out of life.
Horses are majestic animals and they live a long time compared to sheep and pigs, but I’m not spending my life lugging around 250 pounds of ugly dead weight.
That’s why I’ve settled on being a bovine in my next life. But not just any beef animal. I wouldn’t want to be a dairy bull, for instance. Unless you are in the top 99.9% of your class you are never going to get to breed a cow. You’re going to be castrated, deprived of mother’s milk and affection, and eaten as someone’s veal cutlet all before your voice changes. There is also the possibility of being turned into a “Gomer” bull where some sicko veterinarian redirects your wiring so you get teased by foreplay but can’t consummate the deal. If you know what I mean. Who wants to spend their life being laughed at by the real bulls and peeing out of your back end like a common cow?
A great rodeo bull, that’s the identity I’ve chosen for myself in my next life. You get treated like a king, your life is insured, you travel to all the great cities, and what cow or heifer can resist a masculine beast who is the headline star of PBR shows around the country. All this and all you have to do is grind a cowboy into the dirt once a week. Who knows, perhaps some youngster reading this column may one day see Handsome Devil (that will be my stage name) perform in the tenth round at the NFR 40 years from now in Vegas. If you do you’ll know it’s me.