Thursday, September 06, 2007
BUILD A BEAR WITH HUMANS?????
As you all are aware I've been slightly put out by the idea of having Miss Ellie in a jar on my mantle. Quite honestly, Ellie's presence, urn or no urn, gives me the heebies. Makes me feel like she's watching me all the time. Nobody wants anybody's Mom watching them all the time. It's .... just ..... not natural. Some things Mom's don't need to see, you know?

Last night we went to dinner with our neighbors and the subject of cremation came up. Turns out two of my neighbors brothers died and one was cremated. His kids came to the funeral home with tupperware and divided him up 3 ways. Little dad for me...little of Dad for you...arm here, leg there, head over yonder. You get the idea. Each kid took their portion of good ole Dad and did their own thing with him. Understand by now my jaw had already dropped so low it rested wetly in the gravy on my plate of Scottish meatloaf. That's when things took a turn for the bizarre.

"So, they all scattered him in different places?" I asked again.

"Well, no. The daughter keeps her portion in a care bear."

"Say what?"

"You know...one of those build a bears? She had him mixed in with the stuffing."

"Nuuuuuh UGH!"

"Yes, by golly, she did."

"nuh UGH!"

"I can have her bring him over and show you."

"nnnnn no. No thank you."

Let me tell you people, there is no way in HELL I am getting cremated. Knowing my kid, I'd end up in one of those Taco Bell dogs on the dashboard of his car with my head wobblin' every time he hit a bump!

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posted by Crabby at 1:49 PM | 41 moos from the field
Sunday, August 26, 2007
Barman pointed out a discrepancy in the post below this one.

At 8/24/2007 6:31 PM, barman

No, no, no Crabby. You said ...

She fell and couldn't get up. By the time they found her she had drown in her own drool.

Later you said ...

I was fortunate to be with Gramma when she passed. Her last words to me were, "Win one for the Gripper."

See what I mean... it must be all your grieving.



Of course being a modest person, I wasn't going to tell but... ok... I will. The 100 percent truth is........


WE SEE DEAD PEOPLE!



It's true. Dead people talk to me....er...us. In fact, dead pets talk to me too. Remember that little dog you had as a kid? The one you loved sooooo much. Well, she/he....is telling me to tell you guys......... PUT YOUR CUTE LITTLE FINGER RIGHT "HERE" CLICK AND GIVE POOR PENNILESS CRABBERS AN "I LOVE YOU CRABBY", THUMBS UP VOTE.

For those of you groaning....... there are only 5 more days of voting left. If you vote me to a win I will do my very first striptease dance ever (as far as I know) on video, right here.





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posted by Crabby at 7:29 AM | 16 moos from the field
Wednesday, July 18, 2007

So last night we had another "visitation"..... meaning, another old person in Bob's family dropped dead and we had to go look at them. By now you all know that my own family has some weird-assed funerals. There was the time my cousin came in with her new breasts and had everybody feeling them to see how real they felt...even better the time......

but I digress. This one, isn't about my nutty family. It's allllllllllllll about Bob. That's right. Mr. nice guy, who manages to keep his head when all others are flailing about madly....screwed up.....not once...but....TWICE! Do you love it???

Now understand, I only get pleasure from this because every single time we get together with friends he LOVES to tell them about the time I sent him to the wrong funeral. Boy was he pissed when he got back......but...I digress again.

We get to the visitation.... which is deep in the heart of the South end, in a little funeral home my grandmother used to frequent as our hard drinking, chain smoking, drug using relatives dropped off like flies. She got a huge discount for quantity. We walk in expecting to be greeted by family members like usual. But the only person standing in the hall is this massively tattooed fella wearing a muscle shirt, dirty sneakers, and a pair of jeans, cut off to make shorts. It's immediately apparent that shaving has not been high on his priority list for the past 3 or 4 days. Nor has hair combing or teeth brushing.

"Oh there," Bob says, pointing to the scruffy looking fellow. Then he proceeds to walk up to the man with this big friendly grin on his face and say......."Well, hi there. How have you been? You remember, Pam, don't ya?" (I'm Pam) At this point, I swear to you, the man's mouth formed this perfect O, his eyes got really little and squinty like he was trying to focus but couldn't quite get there. That's when it hit me. Bob was faking. He didn't have a clue who this guy was. So I took the heat off the guy before he strained so hard he accidentally crapped his britches or something and said, "I really doubt he does, Bob. He was drunker than a skunk that night." Now....this fella brightens right up and says...."Oooohhhhh, yeah! That night." AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!

Later standing by the coffin Bob looks down at his dead relative and says (this is true, I swear) "She looked a lot better at Mother's service."

I looked at him. Looked at her, and said, "That's cause she's dead, Bob."

I think he's losin it. I do. One day he's gonna wake up and he'll have my brain and I'll have his.

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posted by Crabby at 12:23 PM | 25 moos from the field