Hiya, all you alive people out there:
I call ya that ‘cuz ya cooden be readin’ this if ya wuzzent alive. And’ if ya wuzznet alive ya wooden be readin’ this neither, an’ ya wooden’a knowed I wuz sayin hiya to ya.
(That’s whut Uncle Fun tells me iz call’d sumpin’ call’d a ‘taught-ology’, which I guess iz whut it’s called ‘cuz ya has ta be taught ta think all good’n saffisstickated like that-all. He also says whut it also goes by th’ name’a ‘circular reasoning’, which I guess means b’cause th’ circle iz th’ most perfickt geyametrickul figger, it must mean it’s th’ perfickt type’a reasoning as well.)
This is another perfickt figger…at least in my estimation.
(He’s buttering me up, folks. I sense a kick coming.—Moose.)
But enough’a this persiflage (this iz not a word Uncle Fun taught me…I found this in Missus Cuzzens’ thesaurus. It wuz underlin’d, so I guess that means it’s dirty). I circkularly reason’d that, on ackount’a how this week’s eppysode’a Science Boy vs. Professor Proteus hazza lot ta do with death an’ non-aliveness an’ funerals’n stuff, that we otta share a few words about deceasitude (which is NOT in th’ thesaurus…least, it wuzzent ‘til I wrote it in there).
The trouble iz with death iz that it’s all so seeriyus. Life is funny. Life ends. But that shooden mean th’ laffs otta end with it. One’a my relatives died forty-some-odd years ago an’ he’s still laffin’. ‘Course, that might be on ackount’a he wuz elecktracyutid with a joy buzzer.
So…we empanulled a cammittee (which as it turns out, duzzent mean that we met in a room with simyulashun woodgrain coverin’ th’ walls) ta figger out at least if we could make funerals a little less on th’ wailin’ an’ gnashin’a teeth side’a things, an’ a little moreuva sellabrashun’a th’ life’a th’ stiff whut wuz. Th’beauty part’a this is, it kin work both ways, that bein’ either everybody’s glad fer what ya wuz when you wuz here, er they’re glad ta see ya go already. I had Moose take th’ minnuts’a th’ meetin’, so’s the spellin’d be acyuritt.
(What did I tell you? There’s the kick. I am to be held in no way responsible for what follows—Moose.)
Re: Funerals (lack of enjoyment therein, suggestions for the lessening thereof)
* The ceremony to begin with a guessing game called ‘Does the dearly departed look more dead than Ron Paul?’
(The mortician’s assistant was bang-on with the makeup job, but they forgot to pin back the ears.)
* A prize to be awarded to the mourner who can make the most puns using the word ‘corpse’.
* A special stick to be set beside the coffin, for the benefit of those who want to prod the body just to make sure. (Note from Sparky: this one really works—it helped to break the tension at my grandmother’s funeral. The tension wasn’t all that got broken, either. The combination of a handy stick plus Grandma finally not moving enough to throw things at people proved too much temptation for some of the relatives.)
* The eulogy to be followed by a rebuttal from informed and interested parties.
* The entire ceremony (including the cortege, whenever possible) to be filmed, then played back at a later date, sped up à la Benny Hill, and with ‘Yakety Sax’ dubbed in the background.
* Pop-up caskets (the committee leaves the particulars of this to your imagination).
* The standard reading of the Twenty-Third Psalm to be replaced by “Casey at the Bat”, or any limerick whose first line ends with the word ‘Nantucket’.
* Official party of mourners to include at least one old woman in gypsy garb, who will place a mysterious bundle on the chest of the deceased, muttering “there, master, I have brought you the soil of your native Transylvania…may you rise again.”
* (For Anglican funerals only) The minister’s remarks to be interrupted by the sudden appearance of three men dressed as knights in full armour, shouting “en garde, Thomas à Becket—this time you won’t get away from us!”
* Two words: Exploding Flowers.
(If this has offended anyone—and I mean anyone—in the entire world, I apologize on Sparky’s behalf. I will prevaricate enough to emphasize, however, that gallows humour is often the best way of coping with some of the unavoidable sadness and misfortune that life—and death—throw at us.
–Uncle Fun)
I cooden’a said it bettur myself.
(Mostly because you’d have misspelled every other word.—Moose.)
Aw, spellin’s fer witches, anyway. If ya’ve got this far, click on the blue letters just ahead, an’ lissen to Episode 4 of Science Boy vs. Professor Proteus. Just r’member, tho’—ya can’t spell th’ word ‘funeral’ without ‘F – U - N’.
Sparky
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