So I had to go to the funeral for my father's evil step-mother today, after all day and night at the wake yesterday. I can say that because her family is a bunch of seriously unattractive rednecks who aren't exactly into blogs and could never figure me out, since I keep my last name off of here. And, as it turns out, the morons didn't even know that the bitch had a step-son, let alone that I or my brothers existed at all.
Long story about how things got the way they were. Very long. And you know what? Thinking about something that bad happening to my dad (who is so very kind) just makes me want to stab things with pencils. People, too. It's not conducive to having a nice view of the universe. I know that several family members that I do care about read this blog, so I don't go into details. Let's just say that even Uncle Walt Whitman would have trouble with his sunny disposition if he knew the truth about this woman.
So we're sitting there in a very very tiny church in the country. The preacher man invites people to come up and share memories. Some woman with crispy hair and a bad attitude went up and said a lot of things that just had to be about someone else. I gripped a hymnal and wanted very badly to go up and tell them all the truth. The way I figured it, half of the people there would have left immediately if they knew the truth. Totally. Right away. You know that I am not a person who finds himself particularly inclined to public speaking or much actual speaking at any rate. But never have I wanted to get up in front of a room full of people to speak my mind more than today. Honestly, it was respect for my father that kept me seated, not fear of redneck reprisal. My large-statured brothers were there. It's not like the old rednecks could take me.
Then this cranky piss-pot of a woman tapped the coffin on the way back to her seat, and I imagined it falling over, which made me chuckle outloud from the back corner of the church -- my father's evil step-mother was a very large lady.
The nausea returned then when the preacher talked about how this woman was who she was because of her faith. She loved Jesus, and that's why she was the way she was. Etc. Well shit in my salad, no paradise is worth it at all if I would have to live my life like this bitch. All of the times I've been tempted back to church meant nothing when I sat there and heard the woman who ruined my father's childhood and his relationship with his father called a fucking saint. The stupid preacher said he always saw light in this old hag.
I think the dumb sumbitch mistook hell fire for goodness. Any god or messenger of god who would ever claim this harpy for his own and hold her up as an example for the rest of us (and this guy actually did that) is no god of mine. And that's not just because I was raised Catholic, either.
It's strange to feel nothing when you look at the corpse of someone you've known your whole life. It's strange to go out to eat and drink after leaving a cemetary not to celebrate someone's life and to share joy that their suffering is over. I think that my parents, brothers and I actually celebrated that this bitch was dead today.
I suppose we're cold and evil and going to hell. Hateful Catholics we are or were and all that. But I don't really give a shit. If you knew this women and what she did and how she lived when no one was looking, you would be complete scum to have anything to do with her or even to defend her.
I keep hearing that it's "not right" to rejoice at someone's death. But I think people just don't want to believe that there are plainly evil and bad people out there. What does that say about God and the universe if there are such abominations? But I think that not taking joy at the end of an evil life is what's sick and "not right." Get over yourself. Take one for the team. And toast to the fact that the world is better since she's dead. What, are you gonna cry for people like Hitler, too? Or will people really maintain that there are no totally evil people out there?
That's a lack of courage and a voluntary shutting of one's eyes. I might be mean, but I'm no sissy with this bitch. I'm not sorry to say that I'm glad she's dead.
And judging from the many sets of dry eyes at all the viewings and the funeral and cemetary, I don't think I'm alone.
January 13, 2006
@#$% you, and...
So I had to go to the funeral for my father's evil step-mother today, after all day and night at the wake yesterday. I can say that because her family is a bunch of seriously unattractive rednecks who aren't exactly into blogs and could never figure me out, since I keep my last name off of here. And, as it turns out, the morons didn't even know that the bitch had a step-son, let alone that I or my brothers existed at all.
Long story about how things got the way they were. Very long. And you know what? Thinking about something that bad happening to my dad (who is so very kind) just makes me want to stab things with pencils. People, too. It's not conducive to having a nice view of the universe. I know that several family members that I do care about read this blog, so I don't go into details. Let's just say that even Uncle Walt Whitman would have trouble with his sunny disposition if he knew the truth about this woman.
So we're sitting there in a very very tiny church in the country. The preacher man invites people to come up and share memories. Some woman with crispy hair and a bad attitude went up and said a lot of things that just had to be about someone else. I gripped a hymnal and wanted very badly to go up and tell them all the truth. The way I figured it, half of the people there would have left immediately if they knew the truth. Totally. Right away. You know that I am not a person who finds himself particularly inclined to public speaking or much actual speaking at any rate. But never have I wanted to get up in front of a room full of people to speak my mind more than today. Honestly, it was respect for my father that kept me seated, not fear of redneck reprisal. My large-statured brothers were there. It's not like the old rednecks could take me.
Then this cranky piss-pot of a woman tapped the coffin on the way back to her seat, and I imagined it falling over, which made me chuckle outloud from the back corner of the church -- my father's evil step-mother was a very large lady.
The nausea returned then when the preacher talked about how this woman was who she was because of her faith. She loved Jesus, and that's why she was the way she was. Etc. Well shit in my salad, no paradise is worth it at all if I would have to live my life like this bitch. All of the times I've been tempted back to church meant nothing when I sat there and heard the woman who ruined my father's childhood and his relationship with his father called a fucking saint. The stupid preacher said he always saw light in this old hag.
I think the dumb sumbitch mistook hell fire for goodness. Any god or messenger of god who would ever claim this harpy for his own and hold her up as an example for the rest of us (and this guy actually did that) is no god of mine. And that's not just because I was raised Catholic, either.
It's strange to feel nothing when you look at the corpse of someone you've known your whole life. It's strange to go out to eat and drink after leaving a cemetary not to celebrate someone's life and to share joy that their suffering is over. I think that my parents, brothers and I actually celebrated that this bitch was dead today.
I suppose we're cold and evil and going to hell. Hateful Catholics we are or were and all that. But I don't really give a shit. If you knew this women and what she did and how she lived when no one was looking, you would be complete scum to have anything to do with her or even to defend her.
I keep hearing that it's "not right" to rejoice at someone's death. But I think people just don't want to believe that there are plainly evil and bad people out there. What does that say about God and the universe if there are such abominations? But I think that not taking joy at the end of an evil life is what's sick and "not right." Get over yourself. Take one for the team. And toast to the fact that the world is better since she's dead. What, are you gonna cry for people like Hitler, too? Or will people really maintain that there are no totally evil people out there?
That's a lack of courage and a voluntary shutting of one's eyes. I might be mean, but I'm no sissy with this bitch. I'm not sorry to say that I'm glad she's dead.
And judging from the many sets of dry eyes at all the viewings and the funeral and cemetary, I don't think I'm alone.
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1 comment:
I like the combo with the title and picture complementing each other for one big headline. From the crazy stories I have heard about this lady I can understand your hatred. Not everyone should feel sad on any particular death. If someone was a terrible person and made you or your family a living hell then sometimes death would become lighthearted--like this one.
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