This One's for You, Chuck... R.I.P.

   I just got back from Chuck's funeral. I'm not going to go on about how sad it was, or pontificate about life or anything like that. Instead, I would like to take this time to bitch at the youth of America.
   Because your fucking parents chose to raise you in a classless environment, I would like to smart little assholes up on having a little class.
#1. When picking out proper attire for a funeral, find like the third nicest thing you keep on your 'good' bar. If that third nicest thing has sequins, glitter, or has been bedazzled, just go straight to your nicest thing even if it's your fucking prom dress (assuming it's not "stained"). This is very important: NO FUCKING HOTPANTS. Who the fuck wears hotpants to a funeral? Nevermind, I already fucking know.
#2. DO NOT ARRANGE "Facebook Moments" with the twelve year old son of the deceased. It's not a fucking photo-op, you goddamn stupid twats, HIS FATHER IS DEAD IN A BOX IMMEDIATELY RIGHT BEHIND YOUR STUPID ASS. In fact, that last sentence is so literal, as you are taking a pic of his sister all smooshed up like a bar pic, and you are - I guess - trying to get him to say "cheese", directly to the left of YOUR ASSHOLE CAMERA AND SELF is his FATHER's FACE. In a BOX.
#3. How about you turn off your fucking phone? Nothing like that time that a Deacon is delivering a sincere, heart-felt eulogy and trying to bring comfort to the grieving and then suddenly, Lady Gaga or whatever nonsense you stupid peckerheads have on your stupid phone that is sounding out while your phone is ON AT A FUNERAL. Assholes.
   I think 92% of this state is populated by outhouse debutantes and their offspring that they probably should have hosed off the bottom of their shoes. No fucking class.
   My funeral is going to Black-Tie-Only enforced by a bouncer who will (upon everyone exiting) punch the face of anyone whose cellphone rang during the ceremony.


Peace to you Chuck, we'll do our bit to watch out for your old lady and your boys.