Funeral Eve One day a man with a beard down to his toes ran up to me and screamed in my face,
his yellow teeth jittering, tongue jumping, adam apple dancing,
told me he’d read a eulogy at my funeral tomorrow if I bought him a pint of whiskey,
I responded that I didn’t plan on holding myself a funeral tomorrow
and he swore at me with breath of garlic, turned around, his beard swinging in my face, stank of pubes and cut me grizzly,
and then he turned back towards me and upon completing his 360th degree,
pulled a tree stump out of his pocket and banged my head hard that I yowled and he explained that the tree he’d hit me with hadn’t thought it would die the next day but sure enough a lumberjack came round with a chainsaw in his hands a cock in his pants and a homicidal grin on his face and tore it apart, leaving it unburied and just because it hadn’t bought him a drink it never had a funeral nor any eulogy,
so would I come with him now and buy him a goddamittohell pint of whiskey?