Mike Hickey

Please Rate Your Experience

 1. Now that life is over, please answer this short survey and rate your overall satisfaction as a human being.

__ a. Very Satisfied  

__ b. Somewhat Satisfied 

 __ c. Somewhat Dissatisfied 

 __ d. Very Dissatisfied

2. How likely would you be to recommend human life to a friend?

__  a. Definitely Would 

 __ b. Probably Would 

 __ c. Probably Would Not

 __ d. You’d be better off as a defective satellite endlessly orbiting the Earth  

 3. If reincarnation was possible, how likely would you be to return to life as a human?

__ a. Very Likely

__ b. Somewhat Likely

__ c. Somewhat Unlikely

__ d. Would my ex-wife still be there?

4. In terms of your overall satisfaction, how would you rate your experience with the following human conventions: money?

__ a. I had just the right amount

__ b. I always wanted more

__ c. More money, more problems

__ d. Put it this way, on my death bed I wasn’t calling my stock broker or the Bank of America

5. Compared to other forms of human experience, how would you rate sexuality?

__ a. I had just the right amount

__ b. I always wanted more

__ c. More money, more problems

__ d. Put it this way, I died in bed with my ex-wife’s sister

6. How would you rate politicians and the political process?

__ a. For the most part, they were incompetent but seemed to mean well

__ b. For the most part, they were incompetent
__ c. They could find a way to tax anything from gravity to bird farts

__ d. This survey is genuinely starting to piss me off

7. Finally, in just a few words, what would you change, if anything, about your human experience?

__ First, I’d get rid of hangovers. Hair would grow only when and where desired. Eliminate anything and everything related to menstruation. Eliminate people at four-way stops who don’t know right-of-way laws. Get rid of racists, misogynists, ageists, xenophobes, homophobes, and everyone who falls into the general category of “asshole.” And finally, do away with anyone who calls you in the middle of dinner or your afterlife spirit quest and asks you to take a short survey.

Service Dog
I could be a Schnauzer, a Black Lab, or a Dalmatian, but I’d prefer to be a German shepherd, and you could name me after a Greek god or your great grandfather or that punk/funk band you really like. When we go out, I would start wagging my tail like a pendulum in heat and you could dress me in one of those neon orange vests with the silver stripes (maybe neon yellow on special occasions) that says in big block letters: SERVICE DOG.  I would follow you around tirelessly, endlessly, binge-watch TV with you, and suffer from acute separation anxiety when you leave the house – ripping up cushions, your favorite pair of suede pumps, and knocking over that crystal vase you got from your mom last Christmas. Upon your return, I would shamelessly avoid direct eye contact thereby implicating the cat. I would sleep with you, cuddle with you, and be your over-sized lap dog with an insatiable desire to please and be petted by you. I would lick your face. I would drool but only a little. After you give me a bath in the mudroom, I would shake a dog-halo spray all around the room. I would be the epitome of loyalty, faithfulness, and fidelity, loving you unconditionally into perpetuity. On weekends, you can take me for walks to the park and teach me to sit up and beg. You would feed me human food under the table even though you’re not supposed to and if I ever sensed that someone was threatening you, I would bare my teeth, snarl menacingly, transform from your watch dog into your personal K-9 unit, and tear that person to pieces if I had to. Essentially, I would love you like you’ve never been loved before and even if you drank tequila through a crazy straw and texted your ex-boyfriend six times, I’d sit with you while you cried and say to you with my eyes He wasn’t good enough for you anyway. I would love your poetry and listen to your songs and admire your watercolor paintings of sailboats and clouds drifting across impossibly blue skies. I would bark in approval at that faux mink stole you bought at the thrift store even though you couldn’t really afford it and if that bad thing from the past that happened when you were a little girl creeps into your dreams late one night and you can’t get back to sleep I’ll be your PTSD dog, and when you’re surviving solely on blind faith I’ll be your guide dog and if your life ever completely implodes, I’ll be your search-and-rescue dog and sniff every square inch of rubble for signs of life until I find you. I will never stop searching. And if you throw me the tennis ball 112 times in the backyard on a Sunday afternoon, I will fetch it 112 times, breathe heavily, and wait for you to throw it again so I can retrieve it again and you will love me even more today than you did yesterday, which you didn’t think was possible. I will not need a collar or a leash because I will never get lost or run away and if I ever get sick…  really sick… like when I’m 21 years old in dog years… so sick that the vet can’t save me, you can cry into my fur as long as you want until it’s over and know I will be waiting for you on the other side, at the threshold of the spirit world, caressing your scent, your essence, and your light while I look for something to shred ‘til you get there. So can I please be your service dog?