Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me_ (And Other Concerns) - Mindy Kaling [69]
Total time taken up by this fantasy: 1 minute
Total calories burned while having this fantasy: 10
AL QAEDA TAKES NBC’S THE VOICE HOSTAGE
On a big sweeps episode of NBC’s The Voice, Al Qaeda drops from the ceiling on ropes and tries to turn it into a live terrorist competition where they kill innocent people every hour. The really sick part is they make the judges rate each murder. It’s unbelievably shocking and horrible. Little did Al Qaeda know that I was sitting in the second row, having been given VIP tickets by my close, personal friend Adam Levine. I have a gun with me in my Alexander McQueen clutch—it’s a plastic one that got by the metal detectors like John Malkovich had in In the Line of Fire. I wasn’t sure why I packed my gun with me when I was getting ready to go to this taping of The Voice, but now I know.
When Al Qaeda gets ready to shoot their first victim on live TV, we hear a shot ring out! People scream. But no, it’s not the innocent person they were about to shoot; it’s the terrorist holding the innocent person. (I’ve seen this move in movies—the confusing “shot rang out” move. It is awesome.) The terrorists scramble. Who is this invisible antiterrorist? It’s me, Mindy Kaling. I was hiding behind Cee Lo’s fur coat, and no one saw me. Slowly, over the course of the night, I assassinate every terrorist with my sniper shooting. I train a group of plucky Girl Scouts who are there on a field trip to be a distraction. Soon, the terrorists themselves are filled with terror. Pretty ironical, actually. And then, with the last one gunned down, the SWAT team pours in. I reveal myself and announce, “Song shall never be silenced by terror, only by being voted off.” They continue the taping of The Voice, because otherwise, the terrorists would not have won exactly, but would have disrupted our evening of fun song judging.
Total time taken up by this fantasy: 20 minutes
Total calories burned: 200
My All-Important Legacy
Strict Instructions for My Funeral
WHOEVER IS closest to me when I die, here are the instructions for my funeral. You might think this is presumptuous, but consider it a favor to you, because at the time of my death, you will be so distracted with grief that your ability to plan will be compromised, and I don’t want my funeral to be a thrown-together disaster.*
Dress code: chic devastated.
None of my exes are allowed to attend. Distracting. Weird. (Okay, the only way I would even consider an ex attending is if he were completely, horrifically devastated. Like, when he heard I died, it made him take a good hard look at his life and his choices, and he turned Buddhist or something.)
No current wives or girlfriends of my exes are allowed to attend. This part is really, for real, non-negotiable. They’ll just use the opportunity to look all hot in black.
No one can use my funeral as the inciting incident for their own romantic comedy.
My a cappella group from college will try to perform. I forgive them for trying, but this is not allowed to happen. I don’t just mean the group currently singing at my college. No assembly of past members or anything is allowed to sing. You must be vigilant about this. With a blink of an eye, I can see a group of tearful women starting a caterwauling rendition of Sarah McLachlan’s “I Will Remember You.” Be really mindful of this; they will find loopholes.
No one may use this occasion to debut original music they wrote. I hate original music.
There should be food at my funeral. I hate getting invited to something and there’s no food. Something tasteful and light. No pasta. I’m serious. I will climb out of my coffin if anyone brings a baked ziti. Actually, no hot food at all. Small savory finger sandwiches, scones, coffee. Basically an English tea, but I don’t want anything stacked on a tiered platter. That’s pretentious.
People can text, but no phone calls. That’s rude. And when I say you can text, I mean, hard-core furtive texting, like using one hand and with your BlackBerry hidden in your purse.