This morning didn't hold much promise, just a bunch of old biddies fighting over where we should put the fake flower arrangements for Marge's memorial held tonight in the community room. Felicia wanted the silk flowers around the main table with the burial urn but Gladys says that is just tacky. I tuned out as they found and thought about sweet sweet George Clooney. What I wouldn't do to that hunk o man!
After that frustrating meeting I went to the gym to work out, just like my social worker Meagan was demanding. But I had a bit of a problem, as I slid off my Rascal and stripped til I was buck nekkid a man came into the room. I could tell right away he was turned on by my all natural 47EEE boobies and curves by the way he turned red and started panting. It was only when I tried to take his pants down to give him a blow job that I found out he was dead. I guess the shock of seeing all-natural all-woman me was too much for his old ticker. I did lift a couple of twenties from his bill fold before the EMTs hauled his biscuits away.
The memorial service for Marge was too long, too boring and not enough good food at it. There were rutabaga pickles, tomato aspic, stale saltines and hard cheese slices on bread sandwiches. I made PB&J mini sandwiches and sugar cookies. But I didn't get to eat any of it, Marge's family took offense at me being there after hearing that my Rascal riding to taste the coffee cake may have caused Marge's pacemaker to go haywire and her heart to die. They kicked me out of the reception.
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