How can I make sure some asshole won’t badmouth me at my funeral?
Dear Dale:
I went to this funeral for a guy I know not a close friend just someone you bump shoulders with at the bar or say hi to on the street so I didn’t know him well but he seemed like a good guy so I went. But then some guy got up and started talking about what a piece of shit he was because he stole pens never bought anyone a drink not even for their birthday and cheated at pool then walked down the aisle and out the door. Never seen anyone walk out of a funeral before but he did. I couldn’t believe it. Especially that business about cheating at pool. I thought some things were sacred. Got me wondering. What about me? What will people say about me when I die? How can I make sure some asshole won’t badmouth me at my funeral?
Signed,
I won’t be there to stop him
Dear IWBTTSH:
Well, I have some biker buddies you could hire. They’re extremely good at shutting up people who say stupid shit.
But why bother? Because even if they do beat him so bad he can’t talk, he’ll still think it.
(Odds are, he’ll think even less of you for having him beaten up by bikers.)
And unless you kill him — which will cost extra — once he recovers, he’s going to go on badmouthing you. To doctors and nurses and even the police.
True, they won’t be able to do anything — it’s one of the many advantages of being dead — but your reputation will be in tatters.
Just like Hitler. Does anyone remember the good things he did? Like eliminate unemployment, build the autobahn and host some really kickass parades?
Hell no. All they remember is that war he started, the one where millions of people died, many of them Jews.
(Those Jews. They really know how to bear a grudge.)
You could try brainwashing. It’s all the rage these days, gaslighting and such, but the sad truth is, most people are highly resistant to mind control.
(Just try talking your girlfriend into a threesome and see what happens.)
Besides, it could be anyone. Your wife, your boss, your best friend… they’ve all got grievances. All you going to kill them all?
Okay sure, you could go into politics, gain control of a major country and start a nuclear war, wiping us all out.
(Maybe that’s Putin’s plan.)
But that’s a lot of work. You’d have to join a political organization, suck up to powerful people and pretend to like kids.
(I’d rather die.)
And even if you do succeed, it’s hardly practical. Because there won’t be a funeral. Just a giant pile of ashes where humanity once was.
(Tempting sure but what will the aliens think?)
No, as unpleasant as it sounds, you’re better off being nice to people.
(It’s hard, I know.)
That and trust they remember you kindly, ignoring your faults and focusing on your good points instead.
Like that kid I flashed.
(I’ll never urinate in a sandbox again. At least not during recess.)
Those Amish boys I took to a crack house.
(Welcome to the real world.)
Brandi, Skyla and all the other strippers I support.
(I’ve put several of their kids through school.)
My boss, whose lunch I regularly dose with laxatives.
(He spends half the day on the can.)
My landlord, whose garden I often piss in.
(His sunflowers have never looked so yellow.)
My niece, whose hippie friends I hit on.
(Seems free love only goes so far.)
My other niece, whose tits I once compared to Mount Rushmore.
(No bigger praise in my book.)
My nephew, who I kidnapped and took on a drug-fueled crime spree.
(He still has dreams about it.)
My sister-in-law, who I insulted by telling my brother he could do better.
(I didn’t mean for her to hear. But I guess I should’ve known she would since we were standing at the altar at the time.)
My Christian brother, whose drink I sometimes spike with acid.
(It’s the only way to get him to stop talking about Jesus.)
And my ex-wife, whose sister I slept with.
(It’s a family affair.)
They’ll all remember me fondly. I’m sure of it.
So don’t worry about it. Just be yourself and let the chips fall where they may. You’ll be glad you did. Because that guy who badmouthed your buddy is an outlier: for most people, funerals are about forgetting, not remembering.
Regardless of the role you played — parent or child, friend or foe, deepest love or most casual acquaintance — you were a part of their life and when you die, part of them dies too: in mourning you, they’re also mourning themselves.
And so they’ll gather together, all the people you know and love, to celebrate and remember you, and, as their tears fall, all the evil you’ve done will wash away like vomit in the rain. Besides, everyone cheats at pool. Hope this helps.
Sincerely,
Dale
Hi. If you’ve made it this far, you probably liked the story. So why not check out some others at my Medium page? https://medium.com/dear-dale
