Saturday, August 29, 2009

Probably "I can't breathe in here! Get me out of this place."

I hate to speak ill of the dead, especially in the time between their death and funeral.

Ah, who am I kidding? I love to speak ill of the dead. I'm just like Geoff B. - I mean, there hasn't even been enough time to do the proper rituals to raise the Ted Kennedy from the grave and make him a flesh eating zombie, and Geoff, rather than let the family and friends mourn for a few days, decides it's time to make sure we all know just what a loser this guy was.

As soon as Geoff B. dies, you can expect this blog to do a post about that one time in Vegas (it involved Geoff B, a duck and two recently unemployed cab drivers) and all the times he refused to tip waitresses every time he ordered a sandwich.

Also, Geoff murders hobos. But I'll save the details until after he dies. Because, you know, I love to speak ill of the dead. The dead stink - they're dead after all. It's not like we believe the dead are aware of us and have a chance for redemption, right?


Anonymous said...

Ha! Geoff's classiness is just one of those things you have to have faith in because you never see it or experience it in any way...actually never mind, he's just a jerkhole.

Morgan Deane said...

Hey, nice to have you back. And right on as usual.