What Happened At The Funeral Home

Scorpions—Sting In The Tail

MoTW—The House Of The Devil

Luckily for me. the funeral home wasn't too far away and I was able to
squeeze my legs together so no pee would escape, kind of like the woman
who forgot it was that time o' the month and had run out of money so
couldn't buy something to slap between her legs to stem the inevitable
geyser of blood sure to shoot out any moment, totally ruining that brand
new pair of white slacks she had purchased only yesterday on sale at the
local Kohl's.

I was graciously allowed to hop out of the vehicle while my sister and
her new (bought) friends checked out the parking lot and funeral home
attendees for the vehicles and people up to those late night shenanigans
a couple days before.

As I ran up the steps of the funeral home clutching my dick, the doors
opened and the wife of the deceased and his brother walk out. They go
off to the side and she begins screaming at him about this and that so I
completely ignore them (as you're supposed to do since it's a private
matter and all that) and head inside the house of death.

Right inside the door people were milling about, signing the guest book,
hugging and talking in hushed tones (cause that's what you do in funeral
homes), but I strong armed my way through the throng, wanting only one
thing: a fucking bathroom.

Luckily I wasn't looked down at since I was dressed like someone who
cleaned up funeral homes and I was able to make my way through the
throng with no known injuries and soon found a helpful caretaker or
pastry chef (or whatever you call them folks) who was nice enough to
direct me to the bathroom.

I found it and peed, because that's what you do in funeral home
bathrooms. (Actually, there's more you COULD do in the bathroom, now
that I think about it. But, since this is a sad recounting of a sad
event, I can't go into details for fear of offending someone.)

Remembering I wasn't supposed to tell ANYONE about anything that was
going on, I went back outside and, after lighting up a cool, refreshing
smoke, called the woman and told her what was going on.

Being who she is, she thought it was the greatest thing since those
reality shows about how to get away with murder debuted on A&E and she
went on and on about what we needed to do next, what we needed to check
for background information on the deceased, how she was going to help
and so on and so forth.

The we talked about the weather, how folks from New Jersey are totally
fucked in the head and what a refreshing pee I just had and then I told
her I had to go since I believed I needed to go back into the cadaver
cafe since it seemed to be the right thing to do.

So I did just that. I went back inside and went to one of the sitting
rooms and sat there playing with my phone. I tried to look sad and all
that, but it's really hard to do when you're checking out porn on the
internet so I had to stop after awhile for fear of getting a boner and
then having to get up and try to catch one of them Jersey housewives who
always faints at funeral homes only to poke out her eye with my finger
or something which wouldn't help, this being a sad affair and all that.

With the phone safely put away, I could only sit there and stare at
people which was thankfully short-lived because my sister found me and
she sat down and told me that her new friends had pointed out the
culprits as well as one of the vehicles and then we talked about when
best to plant sunflowers and the current state of politics and then she
said, "The fucker is here" and pointed out her ex-husband (I think it
was her fifth ex, again a Jersey thing), then flipped him off and said I
could leave, but would need to take her husband (#6) home because he
needed to blow a bunny or let the dogs out or just wanted to leave the
funeral home. I don't remember exactly why he wanted to leave, but I'm
pretty sure it was at least one of those reasons.

(NOTE: For anyone who was at the funeral home on that fateful day in
December '09, you might remember things a bit differently but really,
this is all that happened:

1) Shouting match on porch
2) I had to pee

Anything else you remember didn't really happen. You just wish it did.)

COMING NEXT: The fun starts here: THE Funeral of the Century!

Stephen Johnson

The idea of building a website with Bob came from Stephen in the days of message boards and chat rooms. We settled on the name TheWeirdcrap.com and the rest is history. Retired since he hit the ripe age of 25, he spends most his time doing odd-jobs around the house and digging thru trash bins for "stuff that's still good." Stephen has contributed several short stories and hosted the "Lunatic Ravings" column since the beginning (1999). The idea of writing weekly columns came from Stephen before blogs or blog sites ever existed. So, I guess that makes him THE FIRST BLOGGER IN THE WORLD!!!


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