There’s some weird folk . . .

by duncanr

with some weird interests . . .

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6 Comments to “There’s some weird folk . . .”

  1. Those were some shallow graves.

    I’ll wager I know more about grave digging than anyone here, yet I’ve never attended a funeral nor seen a body. For several years, I hung out with the entire staff at a funeral home and memorial garden for fun and I learned, oh, so much.

    For instance, yes, some morticians really are as stereotypically creepy as you’d expect but most are fucking hilarious people. They have to be, look at what they do all day. The jokes are to die for.

    There are an annoying amount of rules you have to follow to get your dead ass underground in the U.S. but it varies by state and religion. In Oregon, no plain pine boxes for you and you must be embalmed–unless you’re Muslim, in which case you can be wrapped in cloth and carried to a hole your buddies dug within 24 hours of your cheek hitting the floor. Also, corpses aren’t “dressed,” they’re draped in outfits that are slit up the back and tucked tightly under them like bed sheets at an Army barracks. And don’t even get me started on what the freshly dead are capable of: Funeral directors are on call 24/7 to man the meat wagon to pick people up wherever they expire and the shit corpses do, literally and figuratively, can be epic.

    Six Feet Under (an obvious favorite among funeral directors) was a pretty well-scrubbed show, leaving out the truly gross and uncomfortable parts of laying your friends and relatives to rest. One of the most painful aspects is how bloody expensive it all is. That’s why this ass has been donated to science. Strangers can charbroil me afterwards and mulch their garden, I don’t give a shit, I’ll be dead. Try to stick one of my friends with any kind of bill, though, and I’ll haunt you like a bad smell in the refrigerator.

    **Creepiest thing I ever saw? Tiny, kid-sized retorts (box furnaces) next to the adult ones for cremating babies. Like Auschwitz for Disney.

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  2. When we were kids we had chickens, and they all had names. And when one died, there would be a quite moving ceremony – a carefully decorated and sealed shoebox coffin would be carefully lowered into the grave, final words and prayers recited, flowers cast by the mourners, and then the family would go inside to a magnificent roast chicken dinner.

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    • Hope you didn’t keep dogs and cats as well.

      Liked by 2 people

      • Reminds me of a time at a dinner party hosted by two young ladies, let’s call them Kirsty and Katy, at an asian restaurant. Our hosts had pre-ordered a selection of delicacies, and we were about to start when one of two muslim guests asked “What is this meat?”.
        In the instant of silence which followed I saw a brief moment of panic cross Kirsty’s face, replaced almost instantly by relief as Katy provided a correct albeit untruthful answer, and having satisfied the letter of religious lore, everyone was able to tuck in to the marvellous feast.
        Katy’s answer?
        “Cat”.

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