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16th of April, 2024



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Guest Bloggin'

Since I’m too busy at the moment to keep this rickety jalopy running, I’ve decided to post anything which the dregs of society decide to throw my inbox’s way. I need a spam filter...

Case in point:

Chapter 1: A Viking Funeral

Author Unknown

He’s gone, I heard the good doctor tell my wife and sister who apparently were somewhere in the near vicinity. No I wanted to scream out but couldn’t. What the hell is going on? My eyes were shut tight and try as I might they would not open or even flutter. My entire body was frozen and refused to respond to any mental commands that I issued. Darkness held me captive.

“He wished to be cremated and have his ashes strewn over the homes of all his exes and meaningful lovers etc., the meaningless to receive condolences thru the mail or whatever”, my beloved wife Andy relayed the info to the Doc or someone.

Then my beloved, somewhat frugal Sister, chimed in “My God stamps alone will cost a small fortune”. “Just put a notice in a few fish-wrappers”. As for scattering ashes, forget the former wives as they would make every attempt to bring the aircraft down before the payload could be delivered. The meaningfuls would be more receptive but squirm with discomfort while trying to explain the gesture to their current meaningfuls. We were only friends won’t wash”.

“Well, his 2nd wish was for a “Viking funeral”, Andy offered. Maybe we could get some of his old drinking buddies to heave “Molotov” cocktails at a small vessel as it floats near the “Lil’ ” River Bridge that spans the infamous Alatoona Lake. Henry Bryan and Jackie Dempsey will gladly secure an old fishing boat I’m sure”.

The 2nd wish prevailed. Somehow my wife and sister pulled it off. It was near dusk on a late August day when the much publicized event began. Bells Ferry road was closed to traffic in both directions, so the bridge would be open to the throngs of expected onlookers. Twenty cocktail hurlers waited in formation for the funeral barge to pass beneath, carrying yours truly to Valhalla. All at once the small boat came into view in tow behind a larger ski boat. When it neared the bridge, someone severed the tow line. Now the vessel was drifting under the L.R.B. Finally it emerged on the other side as the cocktails were lit, awaiting the Hurl command. Then it came, Ready! Hurl! All at once 20 arms obeyed the order! A few struck the small craft, causing it to ignite. The burlap wrapped corpse was now slowly engulfed in smoke and flame.

“My God it moved” a horrified deputy sheriff screamed!”Saw it thru my field glasses”. Henry Bryan snatched the glasses from the grasp of the now hysterical lawman. “Let me have a look see”! Naw, must’ve been your eyes doin’ tricks, what with it being nearly dark and all.

Only small remnants of the remained by now, floating on the surface near a large patch of ashes, surrounded by a mysterious ring of grease, all floating away toward a distant beach. Show was over and the crowd began to thin out. Some were puzzled by the behavior of Henry B. and Jackie D. however. Both were giggling and high-fiving anyone nearby. Eventually they were joined by the widow and sister of the deceased. Both ladies suppressed their own laughter all were aboard the Merc convertible belonging to J.D.. Now as the white Mercedes sped south on Bells Ferry Road, Henry B. broke the silence! There must be a God, what an unexpected bonus!He was refering to the fact that one of the hurlers was none other than George Tweedy.

It seemed that “Old Pruneface” (George) inadvertantly dropped his flaming cocktail all over himself! J.D. quickly pushed the “Human Torch” over the bridge railing and downward toward the murky water some 50 feet below. As luck would have it, George missed the water and upon the rocky shore. “Close but no cigar” would be this poor old wretches final epitath.

All 4 occupants wiped tears caused by derisive laughter from their eyes as the speeding vehichle reached it’s destination. Now all entered the Villas of Kennesaw clubhouse bar, which had been previously reserved for the evening. “Did he suffer”? I asked. “Which one?”, my wife asked. “Huh”!

Finally H.B. was able to speak and relay the tale of “Old Lonesome George’s demise”. Loud guffaws filled the room, it was gonna be a great night!!!

Stay tuned for Chapter Two:

Where in the world Is Gary ASSitelli?


Holy Father

This author's spailling is horrable. Someone should proof reed these "guest collamnist" befourhand. Holy Father

Rev. Will B. Dunne

What infidel came up with this garbage? Being a charter member of the "Concerned Citizens for Decency League", I will urge the FCC to shut down this paganistic site permanently!!!! God Bless all Christian Americans and Europeans, Rev. Will B. Dunne

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