Ten Minute Funeral for Rick
A buddy of mine died last week. I’d known him since grade school. We were best friends up through high school when I moved away. We got back in touch with each other a few years ago through the Facebooks and he came out to visit me with his family a few times. His name was “Rick”… something. Can’t remember right now. Anyway, he died.
Rick was married and had some kids… I don’t know how many. Just a lot. Like every time I saw him and his wife, they had different kids. Not like new babies, but like older, 5-10 year old kids. Or maybe it was just the same couple kids wearing different clothes each time also with different hair cuts. I honestly didn’t pay attention much ’cause I was always trying to look at Rick’s wife’s jugs without him noticing ’cause he was really protective of her great jugs. I totally can’t remember her name either. But I digress…
The circumstances of Rick’s death are kind of embarrassing. He’d started hanging out with this Asian chick (Japanese or Chinese or some shit) who was apparently really into S&M type stuff. I could never get into that stuff. It always seemed like the chicks who were really into S&M were chicks I’d never wanna fuck… like with weird skin problems or little nub-boobies. Nub-boobs. Noobs. Yeah, weird skin problems and/or noobs. But Rick didn’t mind, so he started cheating on his wife with this Asian S&M mistress, and apparently she got him into this thing called the “tower of power,” which apparently you… well, you can guess what it does. Go listen to “Bobby Brown” by Frank Zappa. He discusses it. The nasty little secret about the tower of power is that if you don’t keep it clean, bacteria can build up on it and give you an infection in your large intestine or colon, and that’s exactly what happened to Rick: he died from a massive infection of the large intestine caused by an unclean tower of power spindle.
Anyway, on to the part of the story that’s mildly interesting. My piece of shit Mustang wouldn’t start on the day of my dear friend Rick’s funeral, so I had to take the city bus. As I was waiting for the bus, I realized I had literally only $2.50 in my wallet, which is the exact amount needed for a one-way ride on the bus. However, I also remembered that the bus driver will give you a ticket for 1 free transfer if you ask, which I could use to take the bus back home if I could make it back 2 hours.
The bus ride took over an hour, and then it was a 20 minute walk after that to get to the funeral parlor. I was late, so they were already viewing the casket… and there was a long line (Rick was a popular dude; not surprising with his wife’s jugs being what they were). I needed at least 20 minutes to walk back to the bus station to make my transfer, so I had to get the fuck out of there in 10 minutes.
Some old fuckers (I think they were Rick’s parents) were up there at the casket forever wheeping and moaning like a couple old Russian widows (Rick’s family was actually of Saxon ancestry, not Russian). The couple in front of me was whispering and wondering how Rick died, so I leaned in and said, “Large intestine infection from an unsanitary tower of power.” They looked at me and went, “Oh, yeah, that’ll do it every time.”
Finally, it was my turn to view the casket and I had like 1 minute left. Rick’s wife was there greeting people and taking condolences in a low-cut shirt, so I just went up, had a 20 second full-on, public stare at her jugs now that I didn’t have to worry about Rick punching me, gave her a deep and passionate hug (and pressed my magnum to her inner thigh), stepped over to Rick’s dead corpse, said “Take care, buddy,” and bolted back to the bus stop, making it just in time.
Also, I finally found out Rick’s wife’s name. It’s “Beth.” I know because she called me later that night to see if I wanted to come over and console her (she must have noticed my magnum pressed warmly against her inner thigh).
And console her I did… for several passionate hours.
Take care, Rick.