I went to Donald Lear's funeral yesterday. This was my second funeral this month. It was just two weeks ago I attended
my Dad's funeral. Donald died because he choked to death by swallowing
a peanut while arguing with his wife about the football play offs. Too bad Donald will miss the Superbowl.
When I got in
line with everybody who walked past the casket for one last good bye before they closed up Donald for good I noticed a scar on the
side of the casket. The casket was Mahgony, just like the kind my father was buried in. It looked like it too. The scar was right
where my nephew Ricky started to carve his intials on the side of my dad's box. Sure enough the scar were the intials RPN! It was the
the mark that stupid kid had carved on my father's coffin. My god this was my dad's fucking casket! Stuned I just stood there looking
from the casket to Donald to the funeral director and back at my dad's coffin. Everyone had to walk around me and I got a lot of sympatic
looks as well as hostile ones.
The funeral director meet my eyes and I thought: "you sick crook! you perverted, sick crook!" But the funeral guy
just back at me with that damned mornful look he had. I thought of my dad lying in that cold hole with nothing to keep away the worms and bugs!
I should do something, tell someone, but I still just stood there looking down on poor Donald. Wasn't I just as perverted as the funeral director
if I was just going to stand here and let him get away with this? When everyone had gotten passed they closed the casket and the pall bears
picked up the box and followed everybody out. I followed them out and never said a word. I hate myself!
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