Yesterday I gave you Schmoop, and today, making his Bagwine Ruminations debut, Schmoop‘s brother…
David!!
And thus I give you, our new segment…
David Says: Now Dig It…
Hi all, David here. Now dig it, or don’t. I really don’t care. I mean, I’d like for you to read this, but if you don’t…
What the fuck, it’s Matthew’s blewwwwg, not mine.
David!!
And thus I give you, our new segment…
David Says: Now Dig It…
Hi all, David here. Now dig it, or don’t. I really don’t care. I mean, I’d like for you to read this, but if you don’t…What the fuck, it’s Matthew’s blewwwwg, not mine.
So be it, he asked me to do this, and I love him (unlike my Curse of Eve sister, who just pretends to).
How do you feel about obituaries? I mean, obituaries as they appear in the newspaper…
I love to read them. I mean, as long as they’re not family members…well, for the most part.
For those of you who live in the Midwest, or in parts of the south, or in those spots of California where the sheep outnumber those who are fucking them, ever read an obituary about a farmer?
Holy Cow!! These bastards live longer than the dirt they’re tilling.
They sow beans, grow alfalfa, tat hay, whatever, for 50-75 years. And then? They kick the cow’s milk bucket. They go to that great barn in the sky.
Who shows up for their funeral? Nobody. You know why? Because they were a Son of a Bitch!!
I wish more people would do that. Not show up I mean, and more importantly, write a obituary that is truthful.
The way I look at it…If people truly loved and cared for a person, by all means, write something nice. But…
If the non-breathing, SOB was a prick, and who was a barnacle on the back of others, let me write it.
Something like this…
Bud Shitgig died on April 32, 2019. He was a snot nosed kid when he was young and a dirty bastard when he was older.
He ran around on his wife. He was never there for his children (who half of them by the way, were illegitimate) or his family. We’re so very glad you are gone, you dirty fuckin’ prick.
Take That, Mr. Shitgig.
How do you feel about obituaries? I mean, obituaries as they appear in the newspaper…
I love to read them. I mean, as long as they’re not family members…well, for the most part.
For those of you who live in the Midwest, or in parts of the south, or in those spots of California where the sheep outnumber those who are fucking them, ever read an obituary about a farmer?
Holy Cow!! These bastards live longer than the dirt they’re tilling.
They sow beans, grow alfalfa, tat hay, whatever, for 50-75 years. And then? They kick the cow’s milk bucket. They go to that great barn in the sky.
Who shows up for their funeral? Nobody. You know why? Because they were a Son of a Bitch!!
I wish more people would do that. Not show up I mean, and more importantly, write a obituary that is truthful.
The way I look at it…If people truly loved and cared for a person, by all means, write something nice. But…
If the non-breathing, SOB was a prick, and who was a barnacle on the back of others, let me write it.
Something like this…
Bud Shitgig died on April 32, 2019. He was a snot nosed kid when he was young and a dirty bastard when he was older.
He ran around on his wife. He was never there for his children (who half of them by the way, were illegitimate) or his family. We’re so very glad you are gone, you dirty fuckin’ prick.
Take That, Mr. Shitgig.
Isn’t that how it should go? I thought so.
I want to thank Matthew for this time, and I hope to see you all next Friday. If not? Whatever.
I’ll still be around. You’ll be dead. And, I’ll write your frickin’ obit. Get over it.
Have a nice day…or die, I really don’t care. But if you could, leave a comment first, so I know that I made a difference.
I want to thank Matthew for this time, and I hope to see you all next Friday. If not? Whatever.I’ll still be around. You’ll be dead. And, I’ll write your frickin’ obit. Get over it.
Have a nice day…or die, I really don’t care. But if you could, leave a comment first, so I know that I made a difference.
Dig It,
David
