BURGER

A True Story of One Man's Comical Misadventures (Even at His Death!)

"THE FUNERAL"

It was a solemn setting. Most funerary rites and rituals were.

But not nearly so for Ricky Dills, freckle-faced fifty-something, though he certainly looked at least a decade younger. Something quite possibly a source of genuine jealousy, though never voiced, for the handful of fellow friends paying their final respects to the peaceful corpse in the coffin.

Doug Burger, though he'd never taken a single lady, of which there were several, for his blushing bride and, as far as anyone knew, had never sired any offspring, had nevertheless conveyed more than a few funny remembrances for each and every surviving friend stiffly seated in some of the pews so perfectly aligned within the chilled chapel of the community funeral parlor.

But none were nurturing more in the way of actual wacky events as the freckle-faced Ricky Dills seated, not surprisingly, on the aisle-side of the pew situated closest to the open-lidded coffin, for easy access observation for the dozen or so friends who were, one and all, titillated and touched, at one time or the other, by someone seemingly hell-bent on living a laughable life fraught with ridiculous situations that, to all save this tight-knit gathering of fast-friends, could've easily been written off as self-deluding stunts.

Ricky, for one, knew better.

He'd been there through the truly "stupid", for lack of a better term, instances…especially when the two of them, shortly after high school's blessed conclusion, had driven Doug Burger's distressed, due to unbelievably ridiculous situations since its initial acquisition, GTO to Atlanta, Georgia.

Memories of events which, for Ricky, would forever bring a spreading smile or even outright belly laughter…even at something so solemn as Doug's funeral, now held only for friends as Doug's family, consisting of cousins and his wheelchair-confined ninety-something mother, had long since left their much more somber final farewell.

"And now," said the cleric who'd delivered platitudes and proverbs for the benefit of the truly grieving loved ones, but not necessary for the friends, all fifty-something in age, remaining, "Ricky Dills, perhaps the closest to the deceased, wishes to end these services by relaying some stories centered upon Doug Burger's life before the onset of the cancer that claimed him so soon before finishing his existence on Earth. Ricky…?"

All was silent and dismal, as such reverent services involving a dearly departed friend predictably became, until Ricky's freckled face shone with the amused remembrances of all he and Doug had experienced since first becoming fast friends at the age of sixteen and had continued right up to the point whereupon a dying Doug Burger lay in the quasi-comfortable confines of a hospice in those last days.

"I know how sad this all seems," Ricky said nervously while clearing his throat and summoning the courage to continue as he stood behind the elevated lectern overlooking the open-lidded coffin containing the lifeless corpse of their mutual amigo. "But I also know that Doug wouldn't want us to shed tears over his passing. He'd much rather we remember some of the lighter incidents that had occurred, at one time or the other, with any grouping of all of us sitting here today. Most especially with me."

In the short thick pause that passed before a smiling Ricky Dills decided to continue his entertaining eulogy, each and every person, friends one and all, suddenly smiled in remembered amusement over any number of personal situations involving someone who seemed to literally live a life of Comedy.

Then, his own grin growing wider even as his eyes started to twinkle with numerous instances of extreme mirth spanning several decades…

"First, let me tell you about the time…"

And so it began. The relating of tales both lighthearted and, at times, hilarious to the point of seeming exaggeration. Save for the irrefutable fact that similar musings swept through the thoughts of everyone else still sitting in the perfectly aligned pews.

END OF "THE FUNERAL"