Sunday, March 17, 2013

Son of Obituary

I saw an article in the news from Mississippi, where an obituary has gone viral.  In it, the deceased’s daughter wrote a funny, and very true-to-life homage to her father.  Typical of the write-up:

His signature every day look was all his: a plain pocketed T-shirt designed by the fashion house Fruit of the Loom, his black-label elastic waist shorts worn above the navel and sold exclusively at the Sam's on Highway 49, and a pair of old school Wallabees."

I thought this was a fantastic idea.  When was the last time you laughed at an obituary?  I know if it’s me that’s being written about, I don’t want a bunch of wailing and moaning.  (OK, maybe a little.)  But I’d much rather provide one last chuckle, or maybe a guffaw or two.  If I get someone to blow their coffee out their nose, I win.  So I took the opportunity to write my own obit, which you will find below.

The funny thing is that this isn't the first time I've written my own obituary.  In college, I took a class on Death and Dying, where doing our obituary was an assignment, along with determining what we’d want on our headstones.  (I would go look for the old notebook it’s written in, but that sounds like a lot of work.)

So without further ado, may I present my mock obituary…

Local town crank known as “bluzdude” died last weekend, of acute heart failure.  He was 86.  In retrospect, he probably should have seen a doctor, instead of relying the healing powers of his favorite Pittsburgh Steelers game jersey.  His last words were reported as, “Gaah!  I should have worn a Mario jersey. Let’s go Pens.”

He is survived by “Pinky,” who after putting up with his nonsense for the last 41 years, is finally able to take the posters down off the walls.  The ball caps are reportedly coming down as well.

Born in Pittsburgh, he was so painful to look at that upon delivery, the doctor slapped his mother (who promptly smacked him upside the head with her wooden spoon).  After leaving the family nest, he was kicked out of several other Midwestern cities before finally settling in Baltimore. 

He took great pleasure at tormenting the local Ravens, or “Ratbirds” fans, as he called them.  He became quite wary, in his later years, fearful that one of them might slip a little something into his bacon double cheeseburger. 

Before finding a meaningful career in Baltimore, Mr. Dude had a checkered past, meaning he wasn't smart enough to beat anyone at chess.  He worked for a record store chain, which eventually became obsolete.  He worked for another music store, which closed within 2 years.  He then went to work for a craft store, that soon filed Chapter 11.

Upon moving to Baltimore, he found job with a mortgage company, which also filed for bankruptcy.  Realizing he might just be jinxing everyone for whom he worked, he decided to seek the stability of a Fortune 100 financial company.  His strategy proved unsuccessful, as in 2008, that company had to receive TARP bailout money from the government.

He spent his later years being paid to stay out of the workforce. 

He requested that his body be donated for research, although he took care to specify it wasn't to take effect until after his passing.  But at this moment, his liver is being used as a briquette by the 2048 Summer Olympic Games, to keep the torch lit.  Firetrucks have been on call 24/7, to ensure the subsequent inferno is kept under control.


Director’s DVD Commentary: I realize that it could be considered bad luck to write about such things, but I am the type to “whistle past the graveyard.”  I cope by calling out exactly what I don’t want to happen.  Besides, I’m wearing my lucky Pens jersey.  What could go wrong?

27 comments:

  1. On a serious note, I have thought about writing my obit as recently as last week (after my little bro's MIL died). Oddly enough even though I am a woman of (not rock-solid) faith, I am too superstitious to do it. But it does make sense. Why leave it to someone else?

    But you are right: as long as you are in the 'Guins jersey, you should be just fine! :-)

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    1. Even pre-dating that college class, I remember when my young cousin was killed in an accident, at his wake, I wrote down a list of ideas for my own funeral, like what I wanted to be buried with, and the party I wanted thrown in my honor. The fact that I've survived thus far adds credibility to my whole game jersey mojo principles...

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  2. I want mine to end with "Time for Shots" Mr. N you POUR !!!!!

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  3. I read our local paper obituaries religiously. I don't know why. It's been a practice of mine for years. I've already instructed my hubby that he must explain how I died and if he publishes a photo it must be a current one, with me smiling.

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    1. I hate that about some obits. The first thing you want to know is what happened. And I hate when some 80 year old person has them run a 40 year old picture. I want them to run a shot of my 86 year old self, holding a beer and waving a terrible towel.

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  4. Gotta laugh or go insane. I wanna be remembered with a Gentleman J. in one hand and a red pencil in the other. "Proud Mary" is my music choice.

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    1. I want to use the picture of you in the red plaid dress, flipping the bird. If there’s not a drink in your hand, I know one is nearby. Proud Mary indeed!

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  5. I'd love to have a hilarious obituary. We don't have nearly enough of those.

    The funniest one I saw was the one from a few months ago that said the man died from "complications from MS and heartbreaking disappointment caused by the Kansas City Chiefs football team."

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    1. With the Chiefs playing the way they do, I’m surprised that hasn’t become an obituary meme.

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  6. YES. Donate to me.

    I promise, if I'm still blogging when you're 86 (Because I'll still be super young, you know, old man,) I'll write you a fantastic homage.

    Though, please don't die. Not yet at least.

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    1. If I die at 86, you’ll only be 62. Probably be a grandmother of 35, and still be kicking people’s asses in spin class.

      Since I’ll probably retire to Pittsburgh, I’ll be sure to go to your hospital, where you will probably be running things. You can put one of those top secret Nurse’s Codes on my chart that tells the other nurses to take extra good care of me.

      I have no plans on dying any time soon. (Of course, who does?) But now I’m thinking of this bit of dialogue from Team America:

      Gary: Is there any chance we can be together?
      Lisa: Only if you promise me you’ll never die.
      Gary: You know I can’t promise you that.
      Lisa: If you’d promise me you’ll never die, I’d make love to you right now.
      Gary:… [pause]… I promise… I will never die.
      [Commence the big love scene… with marionettes.]

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    2. I doubt I'll be doing any nurse jobs at that point. Forget it! I'm retiring at 50. I'll be at the gym, though!

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    3. I’m sure you’ll be the most ripped 50-year old in the place.

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  7. I love your hats. I love you! Pinky

    I will write I loved him anyway and he loved me anyway!

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    1. On the bright side, you’ll inherit my record collection and assortment of ticket stubs.

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  8. The though of everyone being so morose when I go makes me sad :P My request would be: big party, and everyone bring a funny story.

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    1. While I didn’t get into the service I’d want, that is exactly what I have in mind. More ha-ha, less boo-hoo.

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  9. This is great!! I'll have to tell Eddie to make sure he does the same for me should I decide to go first.

    Hugs!

    Valerie

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    1. Take matters into your own hands and write it yourself! It can be part of your will. In your case, you should do it as a video. It would be guaranteed to go viral.

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  10. Whoa! Thanks for the financial windfall! Too bad I'll be 86 also and unable to type or read.

    You last words should have been: "I can't believe the Pirates haven't broken that f%#&ing streak yet! I'm coming to get you Sid Bream!"

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    1. Sid. Fucking. Bream. I will never forget that game.

      I had just met Future Ex (in Albany NY), I was teaching her about baseball, and the Pirates were in the ahead in the NL Championship series. I was very excited because with the Pirates’ lead, a World Series appearance seemed immanent, and she was caught up in my excitement. And it was exciting, right up until the Braves got guys on base in the bottom of the 9th, and whats-his-face hit that looper to left. Our “all star” outfielder, the still slender Barry Bonds, couldn’t manage to throw out the lumbering Sid Bream, at the plate. Bang bang, Braves go to the World Series, Buccos go home.

      As I sat there, slack-jawed and staring at the TV, Future Ex looked at me and said, “Oh, I don’t think I like baseball.”

      As for being 86, maybe we’ll end up in the same retirement home, sitting in neighboring rockers, arguing religion and philosophy, and waiting for the Pirates to break the streak. I’ll probably be moaning about how outfielders can’t throw any more.

      (OK, I do that now.)

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    2. Yeah, we should probably shoot lower and be in those rocking chairs by 67.

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  11. I laughed so hard tears were running!!

    One of my favorite lines is 'He spent his later years being paid to stay out of the workforce.'

    I would only add "... and that's when he took up blogging." You can;t leave out the blog!

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    1. I was assuming that there would be some new communications technology by then. Maybe blogs will be what the underground rebel forces use to mobilize against our 2048 Corporate Overlords.

      But I'm delighted that you thought it was funny. Everyone else is talking about the actual idea. I made my own self laugh with this one. And that was my favorite line too.

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  12. I'd like to add:

    "And he documented all of these moments with great precision over the years in a series of 18 binders full of spreadsheets."

    P.s. Everyone wants to help train Southern Belles, right?

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  13. I was going to call it Jessica's House of Fanboats, but I figure I beat that horse long enough.

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