Category: Humor

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To My Relatives

By Jack Handey

Dear Relatives,

If you are reading this, I am dead. Or I am close to death. Or you have been snooping through my papers.

Let’s assume that I am dead. I HEREBY REQUEST that you, my relatives and kin, carry out my wishes regarding the following:

MY LETTERS: As you will see in the garage, boxes No. 12 through 26 contain my letters. I have saved every letter I have ever received, including letters from collection agencies. Please go through the letters, reading each one, and divide them into important and unimportant letters.

I donate the important letters to you, my relatives, to divide fairly among yourselves. I urge you to go back through the “unimportant” letters and see if there might still be some important ones in there.

MY PETS: Please adopt and provide loving homes for my dogs, Snappy and Bitey; my cat, Sprayer; and my goldfish, Methuselah.

MY CLOTHING: Please help yourself to my suits. You will notice that, because of my unusual physique, the suit pants are size Extra Extra Large and Extra Extra Extra Large, while the suit jackets are size Tiny and Extra Tiny.

MY LIBRARY: Please donate my collection of books—all five of them—to the local library.

PORNO: Also, please donate my pornography collection (boxes 30 to 45) to the local library.

MY COINS: In the attic, you will find many, many quart jars of pennies. I’m not sure how many. Please spend these pennies on whatever you would like. You may want to cash them in at the bank. However, I’m told that banks will not accept pennies unless they are wrapped in coin wrappers. Maybe that could be a family project, to remember me by.

MY GUNS: As some of you know, I have many guns, scattered throughout the house. Most are loaded, so please be careful opening drawers, closets, and medicine cabinets.

MY PUSH LAWNMOWER: Please donate this to Goodwill, after first cleaning off all the bits of grass and dog poop that have got stuck on it over the years. Also, please sharpen the blades with the hand sharpener (somewhere in box 28). Oil and rebalance the wheels.

MY CAR: Sorry, but it’s still stuck in the surf at Party Beach. It’s yours if you can tow it out.

MY “MURDER”: Please send an anonymous letter to the police, claiming that my friend Don killed me.

MY SAFE-DEPOSIT BOX: Attached to this letter is a key. It is the key to my safe-deposit box. Take the key to the bank and open the box. Inside you will find another key. This is the spare key to the box. Take both keys to the bank officer in charge of safe-deposit boxes and close out the account. You may have to fill out some paperwork and pay for back rent.

TRAPDOOR: The trapdoor no longer works. I think the neighborhood kids broke it. Please cover the button with a piece of duct tape.

SKULL: As you’ve probably noticed, there is a human skull on the shelf in the dining room. This was sold to me as the skull of Khrushchev, the Russian leader. It was a damned lie! I don’t even think it’s Russian! Still, it’s pretty cool. First dibs gets it. (Suggestion: as a funny gag, put a cigarette between its teeth, like he’s smoking it.)

MY WIND CHIMES: As you know, I have more than a hundred wind chimes hanging down from the eaves of my house. Please help yourself. Unfortunately, some of the wind chimes have been damaged by the next-door neighbors.

MY REMAINS: Please have me cremated. Then form the ashes into the shape of me. Then deep-fry me. Then bury me with full military honors (even though I was never in the military).

MY HOUSE: A real-estate agent told me that my house, if it were totally renovated (plumbing, electrical, roof, etc.), and if the bats and raccoons and yellow jackets could be expelled from the attic, and if somehow the house’s “tilt” could be fixed, would sell for about what I paid for it forty years ago.

I smell another family project!

Complete Article ↪HERE↩!

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Just In Time For Summer…

Pink Coffin Pool Float With Lid

Have you ever thought to yourself, “Man, the beach is awesome, but what if it had more death?” If yes, then oh boy, we have a treat for you. This pink coffin pool float (complete with lid) was created by Canadian designers Andrew Greenbaum and Ian Felton who launched a Pom Pom Floats brand to make their dream come true. It perfectly encapsulates most people’s two biggest fears of being buried alive and drowning. So much fun, right?

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Horny Hospice

Sometimes ya just gotta laugh through it all.

“It’s not your grandparents hospice.”

You may be on life support, but your sex life doesn’t need to be.

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What’s Wrong with Dying?

The answer might seem simple, but in the hands of Lesley Hazleton, the question takes us on a surprisingly humorous and thought-provoking journey into what it would actually mean to live forever. And whether we’d truly want to. A frequent TED.com speaker and ‘Accidental Theologist,’ Hazleton uses wit and wisdom to challenge our ideas not only about death, but about what it is to live well.

Lesley Hazleton has traced the roots of conflict in several books, including compelling ‘flesh-and-blood’ biographies of Muhammad and Mary, and casts “an agnostic eye on politics, religion, and existence” on her blog, AccidentalTheologist.com. Her newest book, Agnostic: A Spirited Manifesto, celebrates the agnostic stance as “rising above the flat two-dimensional line of belief/unbelief, creating new possibilities for how we think about being in the world.” In it, she explores what we mean by the search for meaning, invokes the humbling perspective of infinity and reconsiders what we talk about when we talk about soul.

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​Woman’s Very Honest Obituary Says She Will ‘Not Be Missed’

By Jess Hardiman

[W]e all love to fantasise that when we pass away people will be lining the roads mourning – the world absolutely devastated, unable to go on without you. No? Just me?

In reality, it’s not quite such an extreme display of mourning, but at least you can always rely on your close family to at least shed a few tears, right? Well, not always, it seems.

The children of one Minnesota woman, who died at 80 last week, have said she will ‘not be missed’ and that the world is ‘a better place without her. Savage.

Most of the obituary reads as any other would, explaining that the woman, Kathleen, was born on 19 March 1938, and that she got married to someone called Dennis in 1957. However, things take a bit of a strange – and absolutely fascinating – turn halfway through.

The obituary read: “Kathleen Dehmlow (Schunk) was born on March 19, 1938 to Joseph and Gertrude Schunk of Wabasso.

“She married Dennis Dehmlow at St. Anne’s in Wabasso in 1957 and had two children Gin and Jay.”

So far, so nice, right?

“In 1962 she became pregnant by her husband’s brother Lyle Dehmlow and moved to California.”

Oh, hello… Now it’s getting juicy.

“She abandoned her children, Gina and Jay, who were then raised by her parents in Clements, Mr. and Mrs. Joseph Schunk.

“She passed away on May 31, 2018 in Springfield and will now face judgment.”

And for a final sting, it concluded: “She will not be missed by Gina and Jay and they understand that this world is a better place without her.”

Redwood Falls Gazette, where the paid obituary was originally published, has since pulled it from its website.

However, a photo of the published piece had already gone viral – with many people on social media weighing in on the drama.

“So… what’s Dennis’ story?” one person wrote, with someone else saying: “Raised by her parents? I realize this was the 60s but Dennis gets to also abandon his kids because his wife left him?”

Another person asked: “What about Lyle’s kid? Did she have it? Did Lyle’s baby write another obituary?”

Someone else suggested: “I can think of a person who could really shed some light here… @DrPhil care to weigh in?”

Some others criticised Jay and Gina for the harsh obituary, saying that everyone deserves death with dignity.

But either way, it’s certainly a good lesson in how you probably shouldn’t piss off those who will one day end up writing your obituary…

Complete Article ↪HERE↩!

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Acceptable Ways to Dispose of My Body

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[I] might die at any moment. My roof might collapse when my millennial neighbors throw a party that is too cool! I could finally freeze to death from never buying a winter coat! We could all die from (insert terrifying thing Trump is doing today)! So it’s important to plan ahead. While most Americans opt for cremation or embalming, five years of living in Brooklyn have made me much too alt for either. Here are some other suggestions.

Donate my body to pranks.

Spray-paint my bones gold and sell them at Free People.

Let doctors use my body to practice surgery, but make sure they’re not plastic surgeons. I spent a lot of time and effort while alive making sure I wasn’t hot; I don’t suddenly want to be hot when I die.

Roll me into the ocean—it seems like fun for both of us!

Donate all my organs to science, except for my eyes. It’s not that I’m sentimental about my eyes, it’s just that I want them to be used in that spooky “put your hand in the bowl” Halloween trick, in lieu of peeled grapes.

Cremate me, but only if you find a very hip ceramic, block-painted urn that costs three hundred dollars and was made by someone in Brooklyn who somehow makes pottery as a living.

Add me to the “Bodies” exhibit, and make my skeleton do a gnarly skateboard trick. Have the explanatory plaque read, “Blythe was able to do this in real life and did it constantly.”

Put me in a big jar of formaldehyde, like Stannis Baratheon’s wife does with those fetuses on “Game of Thrones.” When you see people getting creeped out by it, say, “Oh, yeah, I bought that at Free People.”

Compost my body and use the resulting loam on my succulents. It doesn’t matter if I’m the wrong kind of soil for the succulents; I’m already killing them while I’m alive.

Keep losing and re-finding my bones, setting off a media frenzy every time with headlines like, “SKELETON DISCOVERED UNDER PARKING LOT.”

Plant a memorial cactus on top of me. I swear to God, I am going to be reincarnated as a succulent.

Use me as a crash-test dummy to prove that it’s actually not dangerous to put your feet up on the dashboard.

Don’t embalm me, and bury me in a natural coffin in a natural cemetery. See if you can find a plot inside a national park. Make my gravesite a geotag on Instagram.

Complete Article ↪HERE↩!

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Hump Day Humor – 06/28/17

Humor takes the sting away; it humanizes us; it helps us keep our perspective. Humor enriches us; it educates us; it brings us joy. Humor doesn’t dissolve the pain or make our life any less poignant, but it does help make things more bearable. That’s my philosophy, and I’m happy to share it with you on a weekly basis. I hope that if you enjoy what you see, you will take the opportunity to share it with others.