My apologies to the women in my life and those who read my posts.  This one is for CF guys and my Twitter friends CFFatboy and rlcarroll.

In my next life, free of f’ing cystic fibrosis, here’s what I want:

10) I want to be the man that men driving monster trucks never make eye contact with lest I come over there and kick the s**t out of their truck and them, then get the phone number of their date.

9) When the preening guy driving the Audi in front of me at the McDonalds drive thru throws his cigarette out his window, God, let me be the man who tells him to pick it up – and watch as he does.  No, scratch that last part.  I want the Audi guy to apologize and eat the butt to show how sorry he is.  Then I want him to pick up the cost of my McGriddle, giving me the thumbs up as he drives away spitting out the taste of the tobacco and filter and parking lot grime.

8) Give me the option to appear in adult films with “giant” in the title. Not that I’d do it, but it would be nice to know I had the option of this career path. (Also, let me punch the WordPress guy who designed an “8” and a “)” to automatically become a smiley face.)  😦

7) 250 pounds, 6’5′ tall.  Pretty simple.  I want to be able to see over the offensive line on my way to six Super Bowl wins.

6) Let me run a mile in under 4 minutes – in a movie. It will be the running chase scene equivalent of the car chase in “Bullit.” No stunt double necessary.

5) Give me the charm of James Bond and Warren Beatty.  Also, I want a 007 license to shoot idiots like the guy at McDonalds. I don’t want to kill them because nothing turns off the stripper you’re on a date with like killing someone in cold blood. And the police paperwork. No, I’ll just shoot them in the leg.  Or, the car.  Let me shoot their car.  That’ll get their attention.  The next time someone cuts me off on the freeway.  I want the ability to shoot their car. and make it go up in flames.

4) I want a jet car.  That’s right.  I want a rocket engine in the back of my car and one of those police business cards for getting out of tickets.  This way no one will be cut me off and I won’t need to shoot them or their car.

3) I want Ultimate Fighters to give me a head nod when they see me – respect. I also want them to give me a wide berth when walking near me out of fear of what I’m capable of. I want to be a walking, slightly unstable nuclear reactor.

2) Black belt? Red Belt? Not enough. I want a new color belt that only I was awarded. Oh, and I want to be able to break a stack of bricks with my p***s.

1.66) I want to play the guitar, hang out and jam with Springsteen on weekends talking about “Thunder Road.”

1.50) I don’t want to do any medical treatments of any kind. I don’t want to have see a doctor until I’m 80 because that was the first time in my life my digestion went south or I had a cold. No nebulizers, no pills, no hospitals.  If I have any of these in my life, God, then expect me to treat you like the monster truck guy.  No coughing either.  Not one.

1.33) I don’t want to eat Broccoli or anything else a horse might eat.  Steak and McGriddles and Pizza.  Let that be my fuel.

1.15) Let me always respect women.  For without them, this list would be pointless.

1.1) Please make sure I marry the same woman I’m married to now. They don’t come hotter, braver or smarter.

1) Forget numbers 2 through 9 and just bring me back as the God of Thunder. Ladies dig the GOT. That will be just fine, God. Then you can rest. Scratch that. Cure CF, then you can rest.