I wake up the next morning in the hotel, and realize that I must have gotten home somehow. That's pretty cool. I certainly don't remember the steps I took to get home, except for that maybe I walked. I don't know how much though. Suddenly my head starts to hurt a little. I must have gotten up too fast. Normally this wouldn't be a problem, because I'd just cure it with another round but I don't have any liquor here. This hotel is fucking cheap. Cheap like your mom, cheap. They don't even have a room fridge, let alone room service or anything like that. Suddenly I remember all the stuff that guy was talking about last night, or at least the parts worth remembering. I guess a police department that can't afford to have its officers not suck also can't be expected to put me up in a decent hotel after blowing the top off my love interest.

With all these revelations in mind I make my way to the shower. The water doesn't really help anything but I guess it's warm. Also wet. I mean, really the bed was warm already so I guess the wetness is the only thing I'm getting out of this that I couldn't have from staying there. But then that's stupid, because; well nevermind why. I'm not going to get philosophical over a fucking shower. That's retarded. The important thing is that I'm up and about and at least; heh, well there I go again. This lack of alcohol is bad for me. It's allowing me to get my head filled with nonsense. I get out of the shower and realize that my headache is worse, so I get back into my clothes and head for the door. Then I notice something. On the floor there's a letter. It's addressed to me so I guess this was intentional. That pisses me off because it means that the cops probably gave my location to the college or something. It doesn't really matter, except maybe Johnny will show up or a bunch of news crews will find out and come bother me. I liked being alone.

Anyways, I tear that sucker open and pull the contents out, throwing the envelope aside. It's printed on this gay as shit flowery embossed paper, in dumb cursive font obviously made by microsoft.

I glance over it and start to realize that this is bad news. This is worse than a bill or a political solicitation or even a fucking tax form: It's an obligation. "Dear Sire" it says. That's exactly how it's fucking spelled which means either the writer was retarded or else they recognized my greatness, but even in that case they should have addressed it to God instead so they're still stupid. "The funeral services for Elizabeth Louis Oswald will be held on the 18th . We request your attendance as we pay our respects to this beautiful child of god, taken too early from us by circumstances only our creator could understand. Come and take part in our final farewell to a light on this earth that illuminated us and our lives all too briefly".

I didn't even know her name. Why the fuck are they inviting me? How did they find me? This is bullshit. Fuck this. Fuck everyone. I mean, even the letter is stupid. The guy couldn't spell shit right, and why does he call her by three whole names? Aren't two enough? If I go to this shit they're probably going to drag the thing on with triple redundancy the whole way. Then again, maybe they'll have alcohol. I knew a guy that said sometimes they do. Is it really worth it though? Probably not. But people also just started treating me with the proper level of religious devotion, and if I don't show up then they might go back to being retarded. My fucking head hurts too much, FUCK.

I race down to the lobby and ask the bellfag what day it is. "There's a calendar at the main desk, sir" he says.

I fucking lose it. "I didn't ask you where I could find a calendar dipshit, do you even speak english?" He appears startled, as if people yelling at him is an uncommon occurrence. If it is then that's just more proof of how much people suck. I mean, this guy shouldn't even have a job. He's too fucking stupid, even by stupid people standards. Whatever. I go over to the desk. Some fat bitch is behind the counter, but she's on the phone. I look around and the calendar is on the desk in front of her. Figures. I yank the thing out from behind the desk, figuring she can't object if she's too busy to put down a phone. I struggle to make sense of the esoteric conventions of this old-people thing, briefly overwhelmed by pictures of kittens and butterflies and other bullshit. And.

Oh. It's the 18th . I take another look at the note and see where the cemetery is and when the services are happening. 4:00 sharp, and it's 3:22 right now. It isn't too far away, even on foot. Maybe I can make it on time. I throw the calender back in the general direction of the direction I'm not going in and head out to the streets. The sun momentarily blinds me. Whoever made buildings so shiny should die. I mean, I guess buildings are kind of an old invention so they're probably already dead, but they deserved it more than usual. I really fucking hope it was painful too.

After rushing like a madman for what seemed like an eternity I show up at the cemetery. I make my way to the mausoleum because there's probably bathrooms there. I guess not. Fuck, I don't know how these things work. I step outside for a second and relieve myself in the bushes before going back in to chill. There's a clock on the wall. It's 3:24. That's good, I made it in time. Suddenly a thought strikes me despite my best efforts to avoid it, which is pretty hardcore because my best efforts are pretty much the best. That's why they're called best efforts. I'm not going to be dressed like the other people here. Normally that wouldn't bother me but for some reason it does. I guess I'm just a sentimental type. Maybe I'm becoming cultured, which would kind of suck because really culture ought to become more me'd.

But that's not it. Even with my totally awesome taste in clothes there's still the fact that I've been using them as a tracksuit. Also there's the whole part about me wearing them for the past 3 days. More if you don't count that day I spent without clothes 4 days ago as an interlude, but I'm pretty sure etiquette on that is that you do. All that really matters is combo. Ask the internet, they'll tell you. This is actually the first time in a while I've had to call bullshit on myself, something which only I myself am capable of doing given my own status. Sort of how God can create a broad too stuck up to fuck him, or whatever. I mean, I know earlier I said my musk was awesome but that was mostly for the purposes of mating. I don't really know how funerals go. They seem like a somewhat different my area of expertise.

I mean yeah, technically everything is my area of expertise, but some bullshit is just bullshit and isn't worth dealing with like math and philosophy and psychology and history and books, maybe chess, basically anything that's lame or full of faggotry. It's a pretty big list. People should invent less things that involve words and more things that involve explosions. Funerals are all talk. That's why I don't bother with them, although I could totally kick ass at them if I wanted to.

I walk outside and I see that they're starting to set up, and a few people are arriving. They're all dressed for success and all that and I almost feel guilty, but guilt is an emotion for inferior people. I just go ahead and sit down. Unfortunately they must have fucked with the ground somehow because I fall over in the process. I right myself and notice that I'm covered in dirt. That's ok, maybe it will mask the scent. Maybe people will think it's a new fashion or a custom of some vague eastern European people. If they ask, that's what I'll have to tell them.

A bunch of chairs lined in not quite even rows, a pulpit, a casket and hearse. That last part seems kind of a redundant. The casket is closed, which I think is dumb. I mean, yeah her head is gone but that would just make the whole thing more awesome. Normal corpses are boring. They've got no style or flash. It's not many people that can actually die in a way so spectacular that people don't want to look at it. Besides, that's like, anti-knowledge. Anything that prevents interesting things from happening is pretty obviously anti-knowledge. I mean, why are people offended by looking at something so recognizably inhuman and realizing it's a dead body? I think it's a lot more disturbing to see people who look; fucking lack of alcohol. Nevermind.

They have a punch bowl, but I'm guessing it's just regular punch. I sort of question the wisdom of leaving an open thing of punch out in open air, with a bunch of trees and grass and stuff nearby. One time I went on this "fun run", which wasn't actually fun at all. I got to the top and they had open topped drinks ready for all the people who finished. I grabbed one and slammed it down, and you know what? There was a fucking hornet in there and it stung me in the throat. I almost died. I ran to the top of a mountain and almost died. Retarded. Yeah, real smart when you're more concerned about getting soft drinks up the mountain than you are about getting dying people down.

So that's why I; and god damn it, now people are starting to fill in the seats. What with the rows being all lopsided I don't want to get stuck in the middle, so I make my way over to the side nearest the food and sit down. Suddenly some asshole who snuck up behind me starts talking and I turn around to get ready to swear him out. Based on how he's dressed, he's either a minister or just a hipster who's doing it wrong. Which I guess is technically what they do, but they have their own standards for wrong and by their standards this is; right? I don't know how it works. I don't make time for culture. It's just emo posturing from people who need permission to feel important but don't realize it.

The guy talks. "I've seen your picture in the paper. You're the one who was with her when she died, weren't you?" I don't really know what to say to this. Mostly I just don't want to say anything because it means starting up a whole conversation. That's the problem with events like these. There's no socially appropriate way to tell people to fuck off. I notice he's eyeing my clothing with what looks like...? I mean, I really think he almost feels sorry for me or something. "Yeah" I say. Do my thorough disappointment he continues. "I was wondering if, since you were with her last, you wouldn't mind saying a few words? People would be comforted to know that she was content or untroubled in her final hours. Of course" he adds softly "If you aren't in the frame of mind to do this, I understand completely". Like hell he does.

You know what? That sounds to me like a challenge. Fuck this guy. Who does he think he is, saying I can't do something? He smells like liquor. I'm the only person that's allowed to smell like liquor! "Nah bro, I got it under control" I say.

He smiles and starts talking YET AGAIN. "You're doing a great service. The eulogies will begin at the end of the ceremonies. You'll be the last to speak". He staggers off and I'm starting to wonder what the fuck I'm actually going to say. I knew the bitch for all of 45 minutes, and that wasn't even in a row. It doesn't matter, I'll just wing it. It's not like these people will be able to tell the difference anyways, and if they can then they certainly aren't going to call me out on it in public. People are just a bunch of pansies that way.

The seats are really starting to fill in now. I get a look from some guy, who seems indignant at first. Then his wife says something to him and his look changes to the sort of look the preacher gave me. That happens a few more times. Most people either don't notice or aren't as uppity. That's good. I guess I didn't have anything to worry about. I'm just so awesome I can carry off any look I want.

When you're me, everything is in good taste.

The seats are basically full up about now. Everyone is taking their positions. Some music is playing from speakers set up alongside the chairs. It's the normal kind. Boring, stupid, the kind of thing nobody ever listens to. Did this chick listen to this type of music? I bet you a million fucking dollars she didn't. So why play it at her funeral? Put on some trance or something for fucks sake. I bet nobody listens to this shit. Why do they play music nobody likes at funerals? Does it make things more official when they suck?

I sit around not enjoying anything for a while and then finally the services begin. To be honest I don't even really remember most of it. I guess it was the lack of alcohol, it's pretty hard on my memory when I don't have any in my system. The preacher talked, he shut up. A choir sang. People stood up, sat down, stood up again, so many times that we could have been doing the wave. Hey, there's an idea. Why not implement the wave at funerals? I mean, it would add in that whole populist element of crowd participation. The way things are normally people just listen to some self-important douchebag talk the equivalent of a fucking book, all out of his ass since he hardly ever knew the person who died. People are pretty retarded if they need someone they've never met to tell them about their relative's lives.

I tried to pay attention when the parents and siblings started in on the eulogizing, but it was pretty much boring. College this, skydiving that, beating up her brother with a whiffle ball bat. I'm not making that last part up. It was kind of funny. Actually, the brother almost seemed like he was glad she was dead. I mean, he used all the soft rhetorical bullshit but underneath all that he painted a picture of a sister who kicked the shit out of him pretty consistently. I mean, even when you do try to pass it off as humor, if it's all you talk about then it's pretty obvious what you really mean, you limp-wristed faggot. I mean, who even gets beat up by a girl? You'd have to be a queer. Or if you weren't before, you'd end up one just for failing the manhood test so hard. Maybe that's why he's pissed. That would make sense.

People laugh dutifully as this is going on. Suddenly some guy sneaks up behind me, not the preacher this time but I guess some other church person, and tells me that I'm up after this guy. I sigh. Well, better get this over with. I guess I couldn't have asked for a better act to follow. I'm lead up to the side of the pulpit. As the brother steps down, I make my way up and suddenly it starts to dawn on me that this is going to be kind of hard. At least at little bit, on my personal modified scale of 1-3. I'd say it's about a 2.378 or so, give or take. I'm staring out at all these people. I mean, how are they going to; I don't even k; and then in the audience I see, of all people, Johnny. What the fuck is he doing here? And suddenly I remember I don't give a shit.

"Elizabell Louis Oswald" I begin. The guy who lead me up hear does that stupid whisper shout thing. "Elizabeth!" he says. FUCKING ASSHOLE. Like they're even that much different. I roll my eyes and turn back to the crowd of morons here. "Elizabeth Louis Oswald was a close friend of me for some time. I met her at Metropolitan State. She was always very outgoing and friendly" I say, realizing this is safely generic "and loved the company of others." That seems good enough for me, so I go to leave and the guy is just glaring at me like he expects me to continue. I'm FUCKING TRAPPED. Bullshit, MOTHERFUCKER. I look back to the crowd and see my inspiration. Suddenly I start to think. What sort of bullshit got me into this. And I guess Mike is ok at talking in public, so what sort of shit would he say?

"She had strong political opinions. She was a very smart, tough, no nonsense girl who championed common sense and exceptional decency. I remember one time, some guy tried to argue that the government didn't exist, and she tore him apart. He ended up leaving the class, and all the other students were very grateful for it. She believed in providing for the welfare of other human beings and was a strong opponent of those elements of conservatism and racism that would have people fighting each other to provide for their livelihood."

I look down into the audience and see the brother who was just talking. He looks proud to hear this. Was this the same brother she talked about as telling her about college? That would be pretty retarded. I guess families are pretty retarded. I mean, here she was kicking the crap out of him, and apparently with her being the younger. Or maybe they were twins. Or fuck, maybe they're just letting faggots into college early now. I just that would make sense. But still, how fucked up does your family have to be to have something like that? I mean, I guess it could be worse. There's always worse. That's the retarded power of people. I mean hell, my own; no. NO, NO, NO, NO. It's not; I mean it isn't; I mean; it doesn't matter what I mean! NO. but that's not even...

Suddenly I realize that I'm standing here still, having a minor conniption. I don't know how obvious it was. Probably not very. People aren't that perceptive. Whatever, I guess I have to wrap this up. "Elizabeth was a beacon of light in a dark time. Her life was the light, and her death was a product of the culture she sought to dismantle. But her spirit and her quest live on, through us and through our own dedications. We should strive to make the world a better place in her honor."

I drop the microphone. People start clapping. Heh, easy. I step down from the stage and the guy leads me back to my seat. I guess I overestimated how hard it would be. People are pretty dumb. I probably could have walked up there and swore at them for 20 minutes and they wouldn't have made a fuss. They would have thanked me for it. That's good, they ought to. The preacher goes up and puts some sort of fine finish on the whole deal and then they start playing that stupid bullshit music again, which I guess is the cue that I don't have to put up with this crap anymore. People have gotten up, they're busy going up to the coffin and laying down flowers, paying their respects and all. A lot of them are mulling around having conversations.

I look over towards the food. It's predictably all there. I don't get why they have food at funerals. I mean, how hungry does the process make people? I guess there could be; no, there are stupider things, but still. I head on over and start loading up. If nobody else is going to get things started then I might as well. Hell, I bet they're all such cowards they wouldn't touch the food if it weren't for me. It's just a whole bunch of crap, like the first person to benefit from something doesn't really care or is uncultured or something. That's the case with basically everything like this, but at funerals it's blown up to even bigger proportions.

The line immediately starts forming behind me as people gradually decide it's socially appropriate to fucking eat now. Retards. It's the normal fare, cheese and rolls and $8 dollar vegetable trays from Wal-Mart. I think about getting some punch and decide what the hell, why not. As I'm finishing up some lady comes up to me, looks me in the eye and says "thank you". Just like that, in a soft, docile voice. That kind of voice annoys me. It reminds me of the look the preacher gave me. I start tearing into the food. More people are coming up to me now, one at a time. They're all saying thank you or something equivalent and then heading towards the food. I don't get it. No, screw that. I don't want to get it. It isn't worth getting.

The fucking thing is over now so I guess I don't have any reason to stick around. I've managed to stay popular with the swarming mass of fools who occupy the world below me now. I've fulfilled my end of the social contract or whatever. Time to get the fuck out of dodge. So I start making my way out of there and suddenly MOTHEFUCKING JOHNNY shows up and he's blocking my way. People are looking at us. This is bullshit! This is double bullshit! The idiot looks at me and starts talking.

"That was a good speech you gave." He looks at my clothes and hesitates for a moment. I try to use this as a gap to escape but he moves to block me. "Hey listen, if you need any help or anyone to talk to then I'm here for you man." I'm backing up now. Maybe I can escape back into the crowd, but he's following me, pressing me further and further back. I mean, what do I say to this guy? How do I keep my Awesome Points intact while still telling him to fuck off? I swear man. Whatever, maybe my social credibility is strong enough at this point that I can just say it to his face and nobody will give a shit. "Hey listen man, I-" and then suddenly I find myself severely off balance. I realize too late what's going on and shout "FUCK" in the hope that it will imbue me with the necessary psychic energy to right myself. I'm wrong.

I trip over the food table and shit goes flying everywhere. The punch bowl slopes down and drenches me. I pull myself off the table and jump to my feet right as a few people look like they're going to try to help me. Like I need any help you morons. You should have helped me when this douchebag started attacking me with all his bullshit. I stare at him, and in my peripheral vision I catch a sight of a good few hundred people all turning to look at me and then quickly changing their minds. Fucking idiots. They lack conviction, that's their problem. Either pay attention to me for fucking up or pay attention to me for fitting into your stupid preconceptions. Don't fuck around trying to do both.

But I guess that was a good distraction. Johnny looks confused and almost a little bit hurt, which is a shame because whenever Johnny gets hurt it ought to be significant. It ought to be like experiencing an atomic bomb or spending a weekend with Hannibal Lecter. Other people aren't paying attention to me. I speedwalk the fuck out of there, keeping my eyes down so I don't look like I'm trying to talk to anyone or anything. Past the food table which is being set up again, past the long rows of seats, past the; is that a news van? Several, actually. Past those, and then out onto the street, and finally I'm free. I'm free from all this fucking obligation and posturing and overblown storytelling and ridiculously contrived attempts at empathy. I'm making my way back to the hotel. Maybe I can call that cop up again and get drunk. That would be nice. The important thing is just that I don't have to deal with any of this bullshit anymore.

I take a deep breath and turn the corner as I approach the hotel.