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5:24 a.m. - 2003-10-27


The funeral on Saturday kicked ASS!!

Man ... you know you're at a kick-ass funeral when they have a local hardcore glam-metal band playing old T-Rex songs and strippers are dancing around the casket throughout the funeral, waving their boobies in the face of the deceased!!



Actually ... it was kinda boring.

The old lady's family showed up to church for the first time in ... well ... ever.

They sat there stonefaced. Her adult grandchildren looked positively bored. One of them, he must've been in his late 20s ... I caught him picking his nose during the service.

And not just a casual rub of the nose.

This guy was on a search and destroy mission for any and all mucus in his sinus cavity.

I was counting the angles at which he was attacking his nostrils.

I got up to 17 and then it was time to pray again. So everyone was supposed to close their eyes.

Not me.

I wanted to watch Captain Booger.

So I bowed my head, but had a side glance of the Booger King.

At this point, I'm shocked you didn't see his finger poke out his eye from the inside. My God ... it was like he lost the Hope Diamond up there and was desperately trying to retrieve it.

The prayer was then over and Stanley Snotwad pulled his finger out and placed it on his lap.

I think, although I cannot prove, that he used his Grandmother's Death Bulletin (or whatever the hell you call the little program that they give you as you walk in with the agenda of the funeral printed on it) as his Kleenex.

After the funeral, I told Susie what I saw and told her whatever she did to not walk up to that kid and introduce herself.

I don't need either of us contracting hepatitis from the Mucus Doofus by shaking his snot-covered hand.

Amazingly, with her entire family there to make sure she got tossed into the ground with the greatest of ease, not one single "N-word" was uttered throughout the entire ordeal.

Meaning that maybe her family had adjusted to modern times better than she had and weren't the prejudiced souls that she had become.

Which was nice.

It's always a good thing when a funeral doesn't automatically shift into an impromptu KKK rally.

I'm not sure if I've ever shared this with you guys, but I have a two year-old son named Andrew.

His birthday is this coming Sunday when he will turn three.

For some reason, this is really freaking his mother out.

Unfortunately, I am currently married to said mother and am having to deal with her freak-out sessions on a day-to-day basis.

"Can you believe he's going to be three?" she asks every day.

"No honey," I respond. "I could have sworn he'd just skip over three and go directly to four."

Y'see ... I've become rather bored with this question.

Because there is no stopping the aging process. Not even in two year-olds. Everyone gets older. Except Siegfried. My God ... that man still looks like he's 24. What amazing genetics that guy must have.

Alas I digress.

Because of his birthday in early November, this will be the first Halloween that we feel comfortable letting Andrew experience.

We began our Halloween week with a Fall Festival at a local church last night.

Andrew is going to be a ... well ... I'll just let you see it for yourself...

No...he's not a white bengal tiger, poised to tear Roy's throat out with one fell swoop.

He's Zebraboy.

Anyway, we go to the Fall Festival last night. We've only been to this church once and I didn't really care for it because the entire service, there was like a deer head or moose head or something hanging up in front of the congregation and never once did anyone say anything about it. I figured we were in a church specifically designed for hunting enthusiasts.

Praise be to slaughtering Bambi or something.

But we had a really good time there last night. As it turns out, four old friends of mine go to the church ... two of them we hadn't seen in close to ten years.

It's really weird to see the skinny college kid that used to get you your marijuana all grown up now with a wife, two kids and a gut.

Andrew even had a great time. He loved some little ping pong ball game so much that the kid operating the game just finally relented and gave Andrew a ping pong ball of his own so that Andrew would go away.

That's my boy. Wear them down with your presence until you get an extra added incentive to just walk away.


I've raised that boy right.

I've gotta admit, I like the transition to Normal Savings Time better than the one to Daylight Savings Time.

Andrew's internal alarm clock is all screwed up which means he wants to go to bed an hour earlier than normal and get up in time for school.

The only bad part is that when he gets home at night, it's too late to go outside and play.

Ah well.

So the kid's a hermit for six months.

It's not like that really did any mental damage to Eric Robert Rudolph, did it?

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