Death by Mouse

I’m home alone this Saturday night because my mom went to a funeral party.

Funeral party? Seems rather abstract. Someone dies, so you invite all of your best friends over to boogie down. I love it.

In fact, when I die I request, nay, demand that my funeral be held at Chuck-e-Cheese. I realize the games are worse there than say, Celebration Station, but they serve beer there. I wouldn’t want to deny anyone their God-given right to drink themselves into a painless stupor following the death of a dear friend. In fact, to maintain the quazi-cheerfulness of the occasion, it’ll be a costume funeral. That’s right, no one gets in without a minimum of dyed hair and a silly hat. So if you’re a crabby McGee who won’t play, you can stay out of my funeral and hang out at the Burlington Coat Factory next door. Party pooper.

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