Thursday, June 28, 2012

The Drunken Mortician

I am determined to flex my muscles in the fiction arena. I think this presents the best opportunity to make money.
Anyone who has read my stabs at fiction in this blog know I suck at it. But I am one determined motherf***er.

Here is the beginning of a story I just cooked up tonight.

You do not have a right to judge me as a drunken mortician. How would you handle dealing with this job day in and day out?

Don’t lie to me; you could not handle it. You find corpses eerie, kind of spooky, even though you yourself are destined to become one.  For me the corpses are not the problem. For me it’s the living; those left behind. Crying, sobbing, and choking on their grief as they try to negotiate the price of my services down. I despise their weakness and I despise their frugality.

Come on, we are all going to die. We don’t want to, we live as if we are immortal, but we are all prancing towards the eternal dirt nap whether we like to admit it or not. Doesn’t it make you feel even just a little bit better when a family member precedes you? Things are as they should be. Uncle Ernesto is in the box and you are still here, still fighting, still plotting and planning, still living, if that is what you choose to call it.

You don’t necessarily have to feel bad for the dead either. You have no idea how many dead parents settle into rigor mortis sporting smiles.  Smiles of eternal liberation from responsibility to their kids.

I enjoy the ability to prey on the grief of family members, which is why I get pissed off when they haggle over the price. I am no different than a veterinarian. Vets overcharge you exorbitantly because they know you will do anything for your pets. Don’t your loved ones deserve the same consideration?

You don’t negotiate with the vet, don’t negotiate with me.

So I drink. The dead are my friends and confidants, but they are devilishly hard to have a conversation with. Generally I appreciate the one way chats because living people never listen anyway; they are opinionated, driven to seek sympathy and to market themselves shamelessly even though they have nothing to offer.

Corpses are cool. Especially the pretty young girls.

NO I do not swing that way, for Christ sake give me a break. It’s just that their beauty is frozen in time and they never say anything stupid. The perfect date.

That's it for now; I have no idea where this is going or if I will even finish it. But I thought you deserved a taste.
Ciao, baby.

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