I’m getting kind of old, so I think it’s a good time to plan my final arrangements. But what the hay, no one knows when they’re going to die, so maybe it’s a good time for everyone else, too. I thought I’d start by writing my eulogy. Here’s what I want the preacher, or whoever the hell it is, to say at my services:
“Family, friends, and those who are owed money: we have gathered today to pay tribute to Tippy. Tippy lived a long life. Well, it was long enough, that’s for sure.
“When Tippy was born he was very young, and new to the whole process of birth. He prided himself on having grown up in adversity. Um, I mean, Adver City.
“He was breastfed as a baby, but preferred the bottle. Then one day his mother refused to share her whiskey, so he threw a big, crying, screaming tantrum. At that moment she decided he was an unfit child, and so she left him on a stranger’s doorstep.
“The stranger happened to be a near-sighted dog lover. She mistook him for a puppy, and he ended up being raised by her five large Saint Bernards. As he grew older and bigger and stronger, he vied for domination and emerged as the leader of the pack. This was his first, and possibly his greatest success.
“Eventually he ran away from home, carefully evading the dogcatcher. He met a beautiful young woman and began licking her leg. He lost four teeth, after being kicked repeatedly, but soon his whining and whimpering got the best of her, and she took pity. She brought this scruffy stray home, and acclimated him back to the human way of living.
“They fell in love and married, being happily married most of the time, or at least some of the time, but certainly not on those nights when he spent the whole time barking at anything that moved. And then one day he left her for that big kennel in the sky.
“And speaking of sky, let’s reflect on that. They say when you go to heaven, yer in for a surprise. Or urine something. Maybe we are all like a stream of urine, that fell from the heavens. Some of us landed upon flowers, some splashed upon mud, and then there are those like Tippy, who spattered the shoes of a drunk poised at a pissoir.
“Eventually, urine flows into the sewer. There it joins a driblet, then a runnel, and then a trilling stream. And as we live our lives, we discover we have joined not just a family, but a community of featherbrains, along with an inbred country of chowderheads, constantly embroiled in internecine warfare.
“On goes the journey of the urine stream, melding with rivers, and waterfalls, and lakes of sewage, while descending to lower and lower elevations. And in the same way, as we ourselves grow older, we feel more and more pissed off that our bodies are going downhill into a big shit pile.
“Finally the urine and shit passes through the sewage treatment plant from whence it came. And as for our own ending, our drop of sewage will eventually trickle into a glass of water, to be guzzled by a thirsty soul, endowing it with new life.”
I really do think they’ll be crying at my funeral. I owe them a lot of money.