You know how you tend to talk about the weirdest shit possible when in a marijuana induced haze? Well, while enjoying the benefits of my friends horticulture skills and trying my best not to look at his wife's ass as she inappropriately cleaned the house while wearing Daisy Dukes, we laughed about a funeral that we had went to where I had called the girlfriend of the deceased a "dirty whore". That is when I think I killed my friend's buzz when I went into a lengthy diatribe about my own future funeral. I know this is going to sound weird but the same way I have always envisioned my wedding day, I have pictured how my funeral would go as well, detail by specific detail. I know, some pretty morbid shit, but I always pictured hundreds of people filing in a church as "The Roots" band plays something fitting, and as people cry hysterically over the untimely passing of Humanity F. Critic. My mother sitting there stoic, holding back tears, looking around surprised at how many people cared for me and how scantily dressed most of the women there are. Even though some of my ex girlfriends are currently married, they all cry their eyes out while throwing panties at the casket, acting in a way reminiscent of Jada Pinkett's performance in "Kingdom Come". Stevie Wonder would sing something touching during the proceedings, continuously stopping mid song to gather himself because of how emotional he was due to my current state. Rakim would recite an original poem, afterwords saying that he would be naming his next album "HumanityCritic" in honor of me. Some of the female bloggers who read my daily ramblings would interrogate my ex's, asking them "Is his dick really that small?" Some of the male bloggers who read my blog, along with Rakim and surprisingly Stevie Wonder, would gather outside the church and take turns freestyle rhyming in my honor while poring 40 oz's on the ground. Later that night a Old School Hip Hop show would also be held in my name, with the proceeds going to the "HumanityCritic, just go ahead and throatchop a motherfucker" college fund. I know, my imagination can get the better of me sometime.
As I sat and watched my friend roll up a Cheech and Chong size joint, trying to recapture a high that I ruined by talking about my own funeral, I thought about all the memorable funerals that I went to.(Warning: This post could possibly be a buzz kill)
The casket wasn't the only wood in the room: I have to be very delicate when telling this story, because if I reveal too much of this story countless amounts of people will be upset with me. Usually I wouldn't care, but the offense that I am about to tell you about is pretty severe, so you can imagine why I'm being so careful. Basically, I guess there isn't any way to put it, I had sex with a chick in the bathroom of a wake. Let me explain. The particular person that passed was extremely close to me and I have had no problem admitting that I have cried a few times in my life, but the wealth of tears that streamed from my eyes was pretty surprising to me. Right when I was about to wipe my tears and be a man again, I noticed a friend of the deceased family(a chick I knew, sorta) looking at me like I was a puppy dog in the window or some shit. She looked good though, one of those girls that was dressed formally but couldn't hide the fact that she was hotter than fish-grease under that "Little House and the Prairie" dress she had on. So I did what any man would do who hadn't had quality sex since the 3rd Tribe called quest album, I cried some more to get her attention. Then she came over to me, grabbed my arm, and ushered me into the bathroom to console me. She handed me some napkin's for my face, kept telling me that "It was going to be alright", and gave me a very long embrace. Right when the embrace was over she gave me a gentle kiss on the neck, which in turn induced wake-like "wood", so I kissed her back. That set off an Avalanche of sexual tension, tension that had me slipping on a condom that I had placed in my suit pocket earlier.(That is the level of pervert that I'm at people, that I would have a condom at a wake "just in case") Death must be the ultimate aphrodisiac or something, because for a guy who daily goes into my pre-ejaculatory rants and insecurity about my size, I gave this girl what I consider "cheesy jazz music, bad dialogue" porn sex. Even though she probably thought I was a very sensitive soul, due to my tears and my outburst of emotion, I know she was surprised when I whispered sweet nothings in her ear like, "Have you ever been fucked at a wake baby??!!" and romantic sentiments like that.
After we were finished and she gave me a "I thought I was giving you charity booty, not being called a 'dirty girl' while being bent over a bathroom sink" look on her face, we did our best to compose ourselves so people wouldn't know that I had, and I quote the great Ice Cube, "Knocked those boots from here to Albuquerque". As we left the bathroom I broke back into tears like I was an Oscar winner and shit, fooling everyone in attendance, everyone but my boy who came to me later on that evening. He said, "Y'all fucked, I could tell because you walked different!!" I said, "I walked different? She didn't fuck me, it was the other way around!", letting my male ego get the best of me, because I promised her that I wouldn't tell anyone. Oh well..
Beat down funeral style: A friend of mine that I went to college with, a dude named Drew, died in a horrible car accident one Christmas Eve. I had mixed feelings about going to his funeral because for one thing I have always hated funerals, but also I felt that I had been a shitty friend to him as of late so guilt consumed me a bit. But I finally decided to go, to wish my friend farewell and to be there for an all around great human being. As I sat in the packed church, people balling their eyes out in fits if hysteria, people read poems and performed songs in Drew's honor. I felt that I wanted to honor my friend as well, but for an hour or so I racked my brain trying to figure out how, and that's when I saw this asshole named Mark sitting behind Drew's girlfriend.
Mark was a guy that has been trying to be with Drew's girlfriend for years, basically he was Pluto to Drew's Popeye, a real lecherous son of a bitch. The mere fact that he attended Drew's funeral was the epitome of disrespect, and I knew right there that I would honor Drew's memory by beating the brakes off of Mark. The plan was for me to wait until the funeral was over, follow Mark home in my car, and beat him within an inch of his life like he had stolen my best porn tape. So right after the funeral was over, I went over to him and said, "Hey, you weren't Drew's friend, who invited you peasant??" In a very revealing moment he said, "We weren't friends, and yes, I am trying to fuck his girlfriend. What!!??" Me, still holding a bible that I forgot to put back in that compartment behind the chair in front of me, grabbed it with both hands and started beating mark with it.(Who else do you know has a "I once beat a guy with a bible at a funeral" story?) As I was landing punches ala Ralphie form "A Christmas Story", most of the men pulled me off of Mark and Drew's mother demanded that I leave. Well, that was until Drew's girlfriend told her why I was introducing Mark to the business end of my fist. At the end of the day I still felt that I was a shitty friend to Drew, but at least he knows that I will always have his back.
Say a little something!: I was asked a few years ago to say a few words about a gentleman that I had known for twenty years, not particularly a daunting task it would seem. But in this case it was, because even though the fellow that died was the son of my parents friends, what I knew about that son of a bitch could fill up a fucking thimble. I mean, we had about a dozen conversations in the tenure I knew him, but the only thing that I knew about him besides him being one creepy bastard was the fact that he enjoyed really bad Hip Hop. But it is hard to say no to a grieving mother with tears streaming down her face, begging you to get up to the podium and say some kind things about her son. As I walked up to the podium, searching my brain for some complimentary things to say about this dude I hardly knew, my mind went blank. Then, in a way that would make the founding father's of Hip Hop proud, I did a very MC-like thing and just freestyled random shit. No, I didn't rap, but I just went off the head with fictitious tales and quotes shared between me and this motherfucker I didn't know. I went on about how "caring" he was, the one time he "punched a horse" on a bet, his words of encouragement considering my rap career, and that time in Atlantic City when he saved me from a couple of highly upset transvestite prostitutes. I thought I had went too far with the last one, but even his parents were laughing at my bullshit stories of me and their son's non existent friendship. As people applauded my incoherent rants as I got off of stage and finally sat down in my seat, I felt someone poke me from behind. I turn around and see that it is the sister of the deceased, she smiled and said "You didn't really know my brother did you?" I smirked in an innocent "You got me, I ate all the cookies" look and said, "No, I didn't." She shook her head, patted me on the shoulder and said, "That's fucked up, but rather impressive."