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Dancing On His Grave

This'll put him in there

I know I’m gonna butcher this, but here it goes: A man was walking home late one night. As he was passing a cemetery, a hearse drove by and came to a stop. Its back door swung open. The coffin inside came rolling out and started to chase the man. The man started running down street, but the coffin followed. He went around a corner and the coffin did too. He tried to cut through a park, but the coffin was still behind him. He reached his house and slammed the door shut, but the coffin busted through. He ran upstairs and so did the coffin. He locked himself in the bathroom and just as the coffin knocked down the door, the man reached inside the bathroom cabinet, found a bottle of cold medicine and threw it at the coffin.

And the coffin stopped.

You really have to hear Michael Colyar tell this joke to get the full effect (you remember him and his lovely wife). He called it a time-release joke, like Excedrin, in that not everyone gets it right away. I’m sharing it with you because it’s the perfect segue what I really want to talk about: Russell’s coffin. Whereas some of us go to a happy place when the chips are down, this is a mental hideaway his soul goes to whenever I put on my thinking cap. Here’s a man that doesn’t smoke or drink or… partake. In other words, he doesn’t do the whole adult thing right. So, being stuck with me and my grand designs, he figures he should keep a soft, cozy place on hand for when the things I choose to be are ultimately the death of him. I’ve been trying, folks, but he’s a resilient little shit. Whatever he’s made out of, mankind needs it. We could use it to reinforce bridges or something.

But, this weekend might just be the final nail. We’re going to Vegas for my belated 40th birthday and I have zero intention of behaving as anything less than coffin-worthy. Russell says I should invent an inflatable version to take with us; something portable we can fold up and stow in the glove compartment. That way we can give him an impromptu viking funeral on Lake Mead. I mean, I’m sure as hell am not paying to ship his body back. My new Volkswagen ain’t cheap. And, hey, what happens in Vegas… right?

I promised I would dress Monday’s cupcakes and I always keep my promises (unless breaking them has coffin-related results).

Aunt Jeanette’s Frosting

Pretty in pink

  • 2 cups whipping cream
  • 1/2 cup instant pudding (I used vanilla)
  • 4 tbsp strawberry jam

Mix whipping cream and pudding on high until thickened. That’s it. And what do you get for all that hard work? A fantastic, super-sweet and easily-manipulated frosting. I added strawberry jam for a little extra flavor, and a bit of food coloring for Valentine’s Day, but neither of these are necessary. Frost absolutely anything that warrants it.

I was the only grandchild until I was three. Being the first of a generation, it goes without saying that fusses were (deservingly) made. As was this frosting that my Aunt Jeanette used generously on all my birthday cakes. She even made me the Barbie cake one year. That’s how I knew I was super awesome. Did you get a Barbie cake? I bet you didn’t. That doesn’t mean your family loved you any less, but that’s probably exactly what it meant. Neener. Neener.

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7 responses »

  1. Cute joke! I hope Vegas gives you all the smiles you could want and then some leaving your cheeks sore from all that happy hard work

    Reply
  2. Pingback: Lost In Translation «

  3. I always wanted a Barbie cake….

    Reply
  4. Cupcakes & Vegas… oh my!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 🙂

    Reply
  5. Pingback: That’s Racist, Dawg «

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