Do you have enough friends to carry you to the grave?
You know what makes me sick? You know what makes me so mad I just wanna hire myself out as a funeral ventriloquist – so when the family is lowering their loved one into the ground, I can go… ‘Let me out! Let me out!’? Man – that would sure lighten the mood.
Yeah – I had kind of a weird thing happen last weekend. You all remember Waydean Pirtle, right? Well – she calls me out of the blue and asks if I can help her put her husband in his grave. Enough friends
Well – I thought a minute. And I said, ‘How much money are we talking? And do I have to make it look like an accident?’ She goes, ‘No, you big idiot. Bert passed away two nights ago… and he didn’t have no friends. So I ain’t got no pall-bearers to tote him to the hole.’
So I told the widow Pirtle that it would be my honor to escort her husband to the hereafter. But -honestly – Bert Pirtle was a lying, thieving crotchety old son of a pup nobody liked for good reason. I mean – if he was that motorcycle insurance guy with dollar bills flying off his body – people would still go out of their way to avoid him. Lord – he was a disagreeable man. He was the kind of guy – the whole town will show up at his funeral – just to make sure he’s dead. Enough friends
So we were talking about this down at the Duck Inn. And I says, ‘Boys – when I die – I got so many friends… it will be difficult to pick my pall-bearers. Y’all might have to do some kind of lottery deal or something. I mean, I got work friends, bar friends, bowling friends, Mudd Lake friends, neighbor friends. When you think about this – y’all might want to do one of those Olympic Torch relay deals – where you start a couple towns over – and take turns carrying me a couple hundred yards or so…’ enough friends
And Dub Meeker goes, ‘What about when I die, Earl?’ Well, I go, ‘Number one, Dub… when you pass to the hereafter – we’re all gonna bow our heads and pray. That we don’t get a hernia toting your hefty behind. And then we’re gonna ask your old lady to make sure and buy a plot near the road. Or we might end up dragging Mr. Meeker to meet his maker. Man – that was weird to write. Enough friends
Wake Up, America!!! I don’t want to be the bird droppings on the windshield of your life, men… but think about it. Do you have enough friends to carry you to the grave? If not – it’s not too late to join a bowling team. I’m Earl Pitts, American. Like me on Facebook. And Pitts Off.