Donny the Dead Man

Ever heard the phrase "Late to your own funeral"? Note there is some language.

                It was a cool, sunny fall afternoon on the day of Donny Mayers’ funeral. His wife and three sons were with the other women and underage children standing around the freshly dug grave in the Cherrygrove Cemetery.  The reverend stood at the head of the grave, bible in hand, where the short, square tombstone baring the dead man’s name would sit.

                Mrs. Mayers checked her watch for the twentieth time in the last hour. The kids were restless, shifting in their seats and poking each other. Their irritable mothers snapped at them, but as soon as their heads were turned the little ones were right back to poking and giggling.

                “Good Lord in heaven!” Mary Maryers snapped. “The damned hearse is here, so where the hell is that lazy brother of mine?! I know I always said he would be late to his own funeral but this is just plain ridiculous!”

                “I bet,” muttered Donny’s Cousin Alice to her mother, Gladis, “that he’s at the bar with all the guys.”

*~*~*~*~*

                The Double Shot bar and grill was jumping. The parking lot was full and music poured out of the doors as people entered and left. One couple stopped by a dark wood coffin in a handicapped parking place near the door.

                “Is this some kind if joke?” the woman asked her date.

                “Maybe. Today they are honoring one of the regulars that died recently. Good old Mr. Donny Mayers.”

                “Aw. That’s sad. Did he die because he drank so much?”

                “No, Tiny, he got shot in the face fighting off some would-be robbers.”

                “Oh.”

                The couple didn’t say anything else as they entered that bar. A huge crowd was gathered around one end of the bar that they joined. In the center was a tall man in a suit in the middle of telling a story.

                “So there I was, three guys with pistols staring at me down their sights. The police were on the way, but I knew they wouldn’t get there in time to save me. I looked the middle guy right in the eye as he pulled the trigger. Got me right between the eyes.”

                He turned to the crowd, revealing the neat hole in his forehead. He could easily put his finger in it and touch what was left of his brain.

                The young man behind the bar looked from his watch to the dead man. “Hey, Uncle Donny, wasn’t your funeral an hour ago?”

                Donny the Dead Man looked from the clock on the wall to the bartender.

                “Well, I’ll be damned,” he said as he stood. “Your momma always said I’d be late to my own funeral. Guess she was right.”

                The whole bar laughed and called goodbyes as Donny Mayers left to go to his last social gathering.

Author's Note

I hope you giggled!