Showing posts with label funeral directors are weird people. Show all posts
Showing posts with label funeral directors are weird people. Show all posts

Monday, September 30, 2013

Directing the Dead

I choose to refer to Ray Crawford as an undertaker; it has to it, a certain je ne sais quoi that can only be matched by the personality of the individual that chooses it as a profession.   
  He calls himself a funeral director, which I find a tad overzealous seeing as though his clients aren’t particularly ‘directable’; nor are they notably opposed to his choreography for their big debut in that pine-box of a stage. However, it appeases my mind to imagine him down there in his workshop, stringing up the dead like marionettes and skillfully painting their faces with a squirrel-haired Bob Ross brush...all the while spouting off good-humored and unreciprocated Bob Ross banter. 


You make sure you bury the next one deep Ray, but not so deep that the Lord can’t find him.