Foreign correspondent G.I. James sends us this humorous reminiscence from a recent funeral in the Fatherland [read: hanging out with a dead German dude in a box].

I got there after the service started, so I wasn’t sitting with the other family members. I was pretty much just surfing porn the whole time in the back of the church.

Have you ever watched people take communion? That’s also fucking hilarious. They’re all so verdammit pious. One thing I noticed is that they all walk with their hands clasped in front of them the entire time, from pew to boy-boning priest (would you put anything in your mouth that his hands had touched?) and back again. Hands clasped like the mother fucking virgin mother her goddamn self the whole farggin’ way! Apparently there’s no rule though, because some of them unclasped as soon as they got back and some of them remained clasped and looked around to see if anyone else had unclasped. If I were Uncle Fester XVI, I’d make it a rule that you can’t unclasp your hands until Father Boy Fucker says “Simon says, unclasp!”

And then the kids came around with collection baskets. When one of them extended a basket my way, I gave the universal “No thanks, I don’t need another schnapps…” gesture and said, “Nein, danke. Ich habe schön genügend Geld.” [No, thanks. I already have enough money.]

Poor kid. You should have seen the look on her face. (Why the fuck wasn’t she and her compadres in school? Did their parents know where they were?)

Anyway, the people who sat nearby and heard my wisecrack were schocked. [Note the "sch" Cherman spelling. Bam!] I’m pretty sure they thought they were in the presence of Old Scratchy himself. I also made sheep noises during the quiet interludes.

And as the sheep mumbled something about “Jesus save us…” I got to wondering: who gets to sit in the box seats?

I had a good time. I really should go to church more often.
 

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