Death is not the end.

Death is not the beginning either.

Death is just a blip in the story,

a space between words, but most importantly,

it's the easiest way for the story to fill your body

with worms. The story must be told.

The story must be told.

Yes, we will all die, except for shawls. And when we do, remember, don't have a funeral.

If you must, invite your loved ones to a popular restaurant.

Blow your funeral budget on spas-p-p-spicey apps.

And at the end, get everyone a milkshake.

No one has to dress up, and when your family's insides are a-boiling, they'll know it's not grief, but under-cooked chicken.

It's just like they say on the commercials.

If TGI Fridays gives you the shits, you don't have to tip.

Ah, Pastor Andrew, the song. Thank you, Sister Callista.

Here's a joke I heard from an uncle on the cam, and if you listen closely, you'll hear the laughter of the man.

A noisy dog was barking on and on every night. Most neighbors bought a sound machine, but Ridge Timmons picked a bite.

Ridge walks to the neighbor's porch and knocked upon the door.

Hi, I'm here to fight your dog. If you watch, would you keep score?

The agreement?

It was simple.

The neighbor, she said it true.

...