I must admit, I got pretty excited when I heard that Charlton Heston had died. Not because I wanted him dead, but because I knew his funeral was going to be the social event of the season. So I went out and bought a new tuxedo. Then, to make sure I fit in to other funeral attendees, I holstered two 6-shooters, strapped a .22 caliber to each thigh, slid a sawed-off shotgun into my belt and crammed a couple hand grenades into my anus. Then,BOOM!,I got the news:
Charlton Heston’s family said they would hold a private memorial service while no funeral plans have been announced.
What!?!? No funeral? Then where are we going to have the 21-gun salute using body armor-piercing cyanide-tipped bullets (usually reserved for “squirrel hunting”)? This is a travesty. If we, as Americans, have the right to blow away a man with a ridiculously large firearm, then we at least have the right to stand over the corpse of the man who fought for our freedom to stand over the corpse of the guy we just blew away wth a ridiculously large firearm. I’m pretty sure that’s in the Constitution somewhere.
And with that, here are a few suggestions for Mr. Heston’s Tombstone.
Alzheimer!?!? I Hardly Knew Her! LOLZ
Bringing Gun-Loving Psychos To All of Heaven’s School Shootings
All That Shit I Said About Guns? Totally Kidding.
Please Remember Everything I Did. Because I Can’t.
I Am Cold. And Dead. But I Would Still Prefer To Keep This Gun In My Hands.
I Shot Biggie AND Tupac. No Snitchin’ Bitches!
Guns Don’t Kill People. Progressive Degenerative Diseases That Cause Brain Cells To Cease To Function Kill People.