My friend asked me to write her eulogy, with instructions to make her die laughing. This is what I came up with:
We are usually urged not to speak ill of the dead. I think that’s a silly rule. If the now dead lived decent lives, we
would be unable to speak poorly of them; if the recently deceased lived lives
of dishonor, corruption, and debauchery, we have nothing but those things to
remember them by.
Which brings us to 50 Sense- that whore. I met her in 2011 and allowed her to
consider herself my friend within a week of that meeting. Early in our “friendship”, 50 Sense
came out to me as someone who appreciated the highest-brow humor known to
mankind: The Yo Mama joke.
As in:
Yo Mama is so sweet all the men lick her.
Yo Mama is so ugly Kim Kardashian wants to marry her.
Yo Mama is so fat she rides two horses at once.
Yo Mama is so dumb her Kindergarten class recently gave her
a plaque commemorating her 50th year- as a student.
Yo Mama is so old the Fountain of Youth said no.
And so on.
I kid, of course. 50 Sense touched each of us in this room
at one time or another- sometimes even with our permission. She was smart and quick-witted; she was
a good friend to people who desperately needed a good friend (me included); she
was a good person who expected no reward for her decency; she was humble and
talented. And her breast implants
were not at all noticeable to the untrained eye.
