Baba has it all figured out. Her cremated remains will join Jiji’s and their mingling ashes will be divided between two desktop sphinxes formerly filled with cheap whiskey and presented to my grandfather for being a damn fine Mason. There’s already fake gold nameplates glued to the bases, no muss no fuss. My mom would get one, Lindy will get one, and Sugie… Well, Sugie didn’t make it to the family Christmas gathering this year so she’s shit out of luck.
Not everyone has their final resting place sorted out, but this is America and we’re a nation of innovative entrepreneurs. Convenient Pre-Purchase is a company that specializes in mail-order burial real estate, except when they’re specializing in ‘Pre-Pruchase’ as stated in the introductory paragraph of the letter. Which immediately follows my landlord’s misspelled name.
What locations! Convenient Pre-Purchase is partnered with over 250 franchise boneyards across half of the country. Gleaming mausoleum or eternal rest beneath a row of maples? Ordering your space today avoids the cost of inflation tomorrow and spares your idiot children from overspending to compensate for taking advantage of you their entire ungrateful lives. Everyone is pre-approved for a payment plan and you’ll never have to meet with a cemetery representative, unless you choose to. Twelve months of interest free financing will get the ball rolling. Perpetual Care Grounds Maintenance! Happy families beam at the camera, safe in the knowledge that they won’t be forced to make difficult decisions when Granny kicks the bucket.
‘If you are prepared in advance, you are not at the mercy of strangers during a difficult period in your life’ says Wendy B. from beyond the grave!
There’s checkboxes for veterans and folks who have family planted in the local grounds—no mention of a discount but no harm in asking. Unfortunately they don’t offer a 30-Day money-back guarantee (mail back the unused portion of your grave and keep the digital egg-beater as our gift to you), just their absolutely no obligation, free Cemetery Space Pre-Planning Information Kit.
We sincerely apologize if this mailing has come during a time of bereavement. Read more…
Grown-ass man wearing the tight black turtleneck with hair pulled back in a tight ponytail, please consider renting a private studio from which to conduct your courses in swordplay. Practitioners of Tai-Chi are a soothing sight on the horizon. Painfully slow and measured strokes with a katana disturb the girl trying to read her book in a rare moment of sun. They worry harried mothers who stand complaining about their lives and distract their precious offspring from pushing each other off the slide.
It’s not the promise of violence that causes such consternation, it’s the adherence to childhood ambitions and flaunting of social conventions. We all had an imaginary friend who whispered devious schemes in our ears. We all had the red plastic lunchbox festooned with Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. We all ran screaming down the street shooting lasers at our friends. But we don’t anymore because sometime during the advent of adolescence it became embarrassing. Girls wouldn’t talk to us and that became a problem. Bigger kids would beat us up. This is nature’s way of promoting growth and development.
Your student is clearly aware that passerby regard her with absolute disdain. She might be able to concentrate more on fighting theory and technique were she not the subject of public ridicule. Note her flowing black dress and treasure trove of bangles and jewels carefully arranged to conceal flesh, the artificial but not outlandish red hue of her lengthy tresses. There is clearly a lack of self-confidence. Magazines, movies, even women walking down the street have inspired feelings of low self-worth which are reinforced daily. This cruel world haunts her nights, and you’ve dragged her out into a park and challenged her to a sword-fight.
Also, why do you, lanky master of battle, hold the steel blade and she the clunky wooden staff? If someone is training to stave off hordes of goblins and return the rightful heir to the throne they need to know what a real sword feels like in their hand. They need to appreciate the weight of their weapon, predict its reaction to contact with a shield and expertly gauge the swing radius. Let your poor student have a crack at the damn sword, please. Clearly your years of dedicated practice have imbued you with unrivaled skill. The wooden staff will deflect any amateur attempt at taking your head off. You look like a jack-ass making her parry your thrusts with a broomstick. Misogynist prick. Read more…