The Creepy Funeral Guy Story

So, the Brown-haired Beauty and I were canoodling on her couch the other day when she made an astounding observation. "You have a smart ass comment for everything, don't you?"

"Not to that I don't," I replied. All forward shields at maximum.

"No... but I can tell you're thinking of one."

"Or three," I answered honestly.

"I'm not criticizing you." she elaborated. "Sometimes you're almost entertaining."

"Gee... I..."

"Gotcha!" she laughed. "But really, you do seem to have a pretty funny punch line for everything."

"It's my super-power," I admitted. "I was bitten by a radioactive bed-bug while on a school field trip. Now I have the proportionate craziness of one."

"Well, I have a story that doesn't have a funny punch line." she said. "And I doubt even you will be able to come up with one."

"Oh. A challenge."

"Let's make it a bet. Winner chooses the prize."

"You're on." I said with out hesitation.

"O.K., but you have to make me really laugh."

"No problem."

She settled back against the leather cushions of the couch and began her story:

"I was thirty years old at the time. It was late in the year and my mother had died several weeks earlier. It was her desire to have her body left to science."

"Which science," I asked, "astronomy?"

"No, and that doesn't count. I'm not done with the story."

"Sorry. I was just warming up."

"Anyway, when a person leaves their body to science, the body is still handled by the funeral home on it's way to the university or medical school. The funeral home charges $400 for transportation and doing the paperwork.

"I was sitting at work several weeks after my mother died when I got a phone call from the funeral home. The man on the phone told me that they had some documentation that needed to be returned to me and that they normally mail it out, but he said he was going to be near my work address and he wanted to know if he could drop it off in person. I said O.K. and we set a time.

"Later on I got a call that there was someone to see me in the lobby. When I got there I met a kind of creepy older guy in a dark suit. He was going bald, had a scraggly mustache and brown, crooked teeth. And dandruff. He introduced himself and instead of just handing me the papers and leaving, he just kept talking in a raspy smokers voice. He just wouldn't stop.

"Finally, I interrupted long enough to tell him I had to get back. He looked a little hurt or put out or something and then he asked, "Look, I've really enjoyed meeting you and since it's kind of the holidays, I was wondering if you'd give me a kiss." My first thought was, "Ewww!" Then I thought how horrible it was that this creepy jerk was trying to take advantage of me during my time of grief.

"I'm not really sure what I said. I guess I mumbled some kind of excuse, clutched the papers to my chest and hurried from the lobby.

The Brown-haired Beauty sat there on the couch for a minute obviously reliving the revulsion of that moment. Then she looked up and met my steady gaze. "Well?"

"Well," I repeated, "If I were you I would have told him "Gee, we just met. Maybe we should wait a little longer. Why don't we wait until my father dies?" "



I won't tell you what my prize was. Let's just say I wasn't treated like a creepy funeral director.


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