It’s another anniversary of 9/11 and on top of that we are trying to cope with another cowardly assassination of another intelligent and charismatic, god-fearing patriot, Charlie Kirk. I’ve been around almost 80 years and that young man touched me deeply. I hope those of you on the left realize what a tragedy this is and the adverse effect it will have on you. Charlie was a true believer in God and wished only good things for this country and it’s people. I hope he didn’t die in vain and that his millions of young followers listened to him and will take up the cause he loved so much.
I can’t possible post anything else today. I’m mourning his loss and my heart just isn’t into it. I wish his close friends and family my deepest condolences. I hope all of the seeds he’s planted over the years take root and produce more people just like him.
Have you ever gone to the track and bet on a horse? Have you ever tracked the odds on your horse? It always amazed me that someone actually sat in an office somewhere and computed those odds. No one actually knows what criteria is used or even if they’re accurate but what the hell do I know, I’m not a gambler. Today’s post is going to be more of the same. I found this information quite by accident and I knew immediately that I had to post it. If you think horseracing odds were hard to compute, these are even more ridiculous. You might find them interesting, and I hope you do.
In my younger days I spent a great deal of time in the oldest graveyards in southern Massachusetts. I did gravestone rubbings, sketches, and even a number of oil paintings. I even stretched t-shirts over gravestones, did rubbings, and sold them through a local gift shop. I had many requests from families for shirts with their family name or their favorite epithets. It seems everyone is either fascinated by graveyards or afraid of them. I’ve always loved them because of the absolute quietness. I spent many an hour curled up with a good book, under a tree, in my favorite graveyard.
Here are a few unusual and catchy tombstone epithets for your entertainment.
M.S. Donald Robertson, died 4 June 1848, age 63. “He was a peaceable man, and, to all appearance a sincere Christian. His death was much regretted – which was caused by the stupidity of Lawrence Tulloch of Clotherton who sold him nitre instead of Epsom salts by which he was killed in the space of three hours after taking a dose of it.” Cross Kirk, Shetland, England
“Sacred for the memory of Anthony Drake, who died for peace and quietness sake. His wife was constantly scolding and scoffin’, so he sought for repose in a twelve-dollar coffin.” Burlington, Massachusetts
“Sacred to the memory of Elisha Philbrook and his wife Sarah, beneath these stones do lie. Back-to-back, my wife and I. When the last trumpet the air shall fill, if she gets up, I’ll just lie still.” Sargentville, Maine
“Beneath this stone, a lump of clay lies Arabella Young, who on the 21st of May began to hold her tongue.” Hatfield, Massachusetts
Sacred to the memory of Jared Bates who died August the 6th, 1800. His widow, aged 24, lives at 7 Elm Street, has every qualification for a good wife, and yearns to be comforted.” Lincoln, Maine
“Fear God, keep the commandments, and don’t attempt to climb a tree, for that’s what caused the death of me.” Eastwell, Kent, England
“Here lies I, Jonathan Fry. killed by a skyrocket in my eye socket.” Frodsham, Cheshire, England
I’ve been trying to write a memorial for Amy for some time now. To say I miss her would be an understatement. What I miss more would be all the music she would have written and performed if she would have lived. She was a powerful voice for her music and her generation. The photographs here are how I wish to remember her. Not the photo’s of a dying drug addict. I think she was young and naïve and running with a questionable crowd of so-called musicians and hangers-on. She had no self-control and hurried towards her death with open arms. I loved her voice and her songs and I hate her for robbing me of what could have been many years of listening to her sing to me. I carry her music with me always. She’s the first thing I see each morning when I turn on my phone and computer. I talk with her every day. Sounds really stupid I know, but I loved the girl pictured here.
I loved George Carlin and coming from me that is one of his greatest achievements. His comedy, except for his political views, was to me the best I’ve ever heard. Richard Pryor was right up there with him but to me Carlin was the epitome of what comics should be. His writings were just as good as his standup routine and they made you think. His English language wordplay was unbelievable and remains unmatched in my opinion to this day. He was also a better than average actor and I especially enjoyed his work in Jersey Girl from 2004. Along the way he won damn near every award possible for his work and it was richly deserved. One of his greatest moments to me was when he released his seven dirty words you couldn’t say on television. Here’s the short version of that historic event.
“I love words. I thank you for hearing my words. I want to tell you something about words that idea that I uh, I think is important. I love… as I say, they’re my work, they’re my play, they’re my passion. Words are all we have really. And the forbidden words, you know the seven don’t you? Shit, Piss, Fuck, Cunt, Cocksucker, Motherfucker, and Tit’s, huh? Those are the heavy seven. Those are the ones that will infect your soul, curve your spine, and keep the country from winning the war.“
Just to show you how the times are changing I’ll tell you a quick short story. A number of months back just prior to the start of the pandemic I was sitting in our local mall in one of those half-assed living room areas where husbands can wait for their wives. A large group of teens arrived and surrounded me as they chatted away about the new iPad one of them had purchased. I sat there for no more than ten minutes and overheard six of the seven famous Carlin words. He was right, we can’t say them on TV, but you’ll sure hear them said everywhere else.
everyuselessthing.com 