Get the Fuck Away from Me, Even AFTER I'm Dead!

A woman in my town recently committed suicide, someone who I didn't know very well. Once her death was announced, overnight EVERYONE in town became her best friend. Notice they had to wait until after she was dead?

It got real interesting, the flurry of activity after the poor woman killed herself. None of her NEW best friends knew it was coming. As her best friends, don't you think they SHOULD have seen it coming?  Do you get my sarcasm?

A bunch of these schmucks got together and held a memorial service. Yet, they failed to invite those people who were the young woman's friends. Because then the truth would come out about their opportunistic nature. Rumor has it the memorial service was a fucking circus where idiots pontificated to the young woman's parents about how close they were, right up to the very morning she offed herself. Sadly, she wasn't in town for a week when that occurred, but hey, why tell the best friends that? They know better than the parents.

Strangely, a similar thing happened to me a year and a half ago when my kid brother died. One moron who used to live in my town used my brother's death to make himself popular on FB. He claimed he was the last person to whom my brother spoke. I wish that were true. There's nothing like having your kid brother die right after saying, "I love you" on the phone. It's been a year and a half and I'm still traumatized.

Even more so when I read on FB all these tirades from the fucktard informing the world he was the last living person to speak to my brother (which defied logic as my brother didn't speak to this guy for a decade, but hey, what the hell?). Nevertheless, the shithead failed to send my sister-in-law any condolences or even a polite mention on FB. I mean, how fucking uncouth is this asswipe, this self-proclaimed best friend to my brother to NOT send even a fucking $1.35 grocery store condolence card to the widow of his VERY CLOSE & INTIMATE FRIEND?

Remember, he was the last person who spoke to my brother right before he died. Something he continued to remind me as well as the close friendship he had with my brother in poorly written sentences on that accursed FB.

Before I proceed, let's rename fucktard as "Turd."

Turd was an idiot, a mouth-breather who barely graduated from high school. Luckily, he comes from a dynasty of dry cleaner operators so no education's required. He's set up for life!

For over thirty years, I only saw Turd once and that was a year prior to my brother's death. I was invited to a reunion party where I hadn't seen many people in nearly 30 years including Turd. This was three years ago and I rode high on the publication of my first novel as well as literary acclaim.

Every time someone approached me and said, "I heard about your book!" Turd intervened, "My book was a best-seller!" he shrieked, drowning my voice each and every time.

Turd was into oneupmanship. My brother died, Turd had to bear witness. I wrote a book, Turd wrote a best-selling book. No matter how far I got away from him, that piece of shit barreled into every conversation to make sure that NOBODY got to hear about my book. Fucking me over in my livelihood. More than likely it got him hot and horny so he could perform a masturbatory victory.

Needless to say, I was fit to be tied. Finally, I hauled off and told Mr. Best-Selling Writer to shut the fuck up. He gave me a dumb stare. I then blocked him on FB. It was easier that way.

Getting back to the woman who committed suicide: she provided a wonderful and free outlet for PROMOTIONS and MARKETING by those same best friends -  local merchants. That's why they hungered like feral wolves for a memorial service, something which she delivered to their doorstep.

If she only knew!!! I don't know the woman, but her friends (they weren't invited to the memorial service) told me she must be rolling over in her grave. She hated those motherfuckers who held the service on their behalf. After all, there's nothing like a little suicide to drum up business!!

After that entire tasteless, crass and may I say, inappropriate marketing venture, ahem, memorial service took place, it dawned on me that I may not get away scot free after I die. Either at the hands of someone who reads my blog, a neighbor or a tree falling on the house. I may even be a bigger draw than that unfortunate young woman! If anything, for inciting 3/4s of my community to riot when I write about the town.

Which makes me laugh. Lately, a lot of people in my town take umbrage to what I write in my blog. They don't like to be mocked.  Well, a lot of them are simply stupid, or, as my mother used to say, "If the foo shits," because the parts where people believe I'm writing about them, well, it ain't so!

It's quite illuminating, to say the least. I get perspective on how people perceive themselves. They're usually quite delusional. Now I know certain things about people I never did before. Nor ever cared to know. Why do people continually disclose shit about themselves that's best left to the professionals?

So, please take note, dear readers: when I die, should any asshole claim they're my best friend, do me a favor: do NOT do any memorial service. Especially where the sole intent is to make people's egos swell and to sell coffee products to the 8 people who really care about me.

Upon further reflection, I do NOT want a memorial service. Very few people will mourn me anyhow. And I know I've very few friends: I couldn't get any of those motherfuckers to buy my books while alive.

Let me repeat that: I couldn't get any of these so-called friends to purchase my books while alive.

Let me repeat that again: I couldn't get any of these so-called friends to purchase my books while alive.

I'm perverse. After I die, I don't want a memorial service so all these motherfuckers can beat their breasts and say, "Maura was my very close friend!" Fuck that. I don't want a local merchant to sell their discounted coffee at my memorial service.

Instead, I want a Viking Funeral. I got an old boat that I can't use due to my hearing. It would be perfect. Someone would start it and aim the boat to the center of the lake with my dead body propped inside at the steering wheel. And my girlfriend can shoot a grenade launcher at the boat so it can explode in splendor. I always said I'd like to go out in a BANG.


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This blog and all its posts are a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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