On Monday I attended the funeral of a ninety-nine year old man. He was the dad of a friend of mine. As I stood over the casket staring at this one time WWII veteran a few thoughts ran through my mind. I had a goatee and mustache and looked stately lying there. I told my friend the gentleman looked like Civil War vet.
On the way home, an hours drive, I began considering what I'd miss about not being alive. Oh, of course I'd miss my family but other than that not much. Then it came to me. When I die and being the curmudgeon that I am I'll never be able to say the F word again. Bummer!
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