One of the few things that really pisses me off about getting older is that there are fewer invites.
There was a time when my calendar would be full of invites to birthday parties, weddings and various other occasions for celebration.
Nowadays all I get is fucking funerals.
I’m not much of a party animal anyway, but that’s beside the point. The point is that funerals are so fucking depressing. Unless there is a really decent wake involved, they are dry sober affairs that do little except remind me that I am that bit closer to my own.
Personally, I’m not bothered whether I have a funeral or not. They can fuck me into the sea for all I care. In fact, I rather fancy a Viking funeral where they float me out to sea and then fire flaming arrows until I burn and sink. I would rather they wait until I’m dead first, but you get the idea.
A couple of years ago, I actually gad to buy myself a suit. I fucking hate suits, and especially ties, but I was attending so many funerals, and the old jeans and sweater were beginning to attract attention. Yet another reason to hate funerals.
The one and only good reason to attend funerals is that I can look at the box and be glad I’m not in it.