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| "DEATH CHANGES EVERYTHING!" |
Hippies are not my favourite dead people; death seems to change people, some for the better and some for the worse. I heard rumours that Gandhi (1869-1948) was now running a cheap brothel by the river Styx and using violence to keep his bitches in order, whilst Mother Teresa (1910-1997) had taken to drink and become a stand-up comedienne and ventriloquist, whose dummy is suppose to represent a one-armed arab leper - the pinnacle of the show happens when his head falls off.....
For some strange reason, it's quite a popular performance with 'Soul-Suckers' and Mormon Missionaries around here.
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| "COME ON YOU BITCHES, BACK TO WORK!" |
They are very unpleasant dead people who dwell in the 'Dark Domain', They are like vampires for the dead, they gain power for themselves by sucking the souls of the deceased, rendering the victim spirit helpless to move about the afterlife's - condemning the poor sod to an eternity of misery in the 'Outer Domain' where the only entertainment is day time TV.
"You may be surprised to find that the ‘Afterlife’ is split into
numerous ‘Domains’, normally with an Angel in charge, some examples are:
‘Religious Nuts Domain’, ‘The Wild Domain’, ‘Am I really Dead? Domain’
(interesting one that…) and of course our own; ‘The Aftertime Domain’.
Everyone is loitering
about, waiting for their ‘Collector’ to whisk them away to Heaven or Hell -
preferably Heaven I would think!”
Tom.
Why wasn't a 'Collector' around when I died? Story of my life that (Sorry - death!) No, this poor old dumb-shit has to find out the hard way. All I got was Lily Twelvetrees (1707-1745), my supposed 'Spirit-Guide', she does actually look like Lily Munster, from that old TV comedy show of the early 1960's and only works part-time, so she's never around when you need her.
I said; "My name is Tom and I don't think that me or my dog, Norman, should be here."
Lily gave me a great big smile and laughing, replied; "Oh George, I wish I had another life for everyone that said they didn't belong here...." She then hesitated and wagged her finger at me. "You know dogs are not allowed! How on Earth did you get him here?"
Lily gave me a look of disapproval, but then Norman wagged his tail, rolled over and showed his belly, or his little pink dick, I couldn't really see, but it was an effective performance because Lily gave a huge smile again; "Well, I won't be reporting such a cute little fellow, he's adorable! You look after him now George! I have a meeting to attend, must fly!"
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| "LILY TWELVETREES." |
'Spirit-Guide'? She couldn't guide a drunk to a piss-up! But she is a nice person and does try to help - when she manages to be around long enough.
Still, she is better than my friend Larde's 'Spirit-Guide', a certain Thaddeus Cocksure (1327-1352) who had been a Medieval dung collector that had died of the black plague and has never forgiven his dumb wife for keeping those two cute little rats she found as family pets.
Poor, crazy Thaddeus still harbours a grudge against anything that could be mistaken as a rodent.
The young Canadian, Joseph Cowboggs (1761-1787) buried by the gates, who had arrived in Scotland to trap beaver in the winter of 1787, but took to trapping a different sort of 'beaver' discovered that (after losing a fatal argument with several sailors over a local cheap whore) upon arrival here - Thaddeus slapped a shovel over his head, thinking his fur hat was a large rat.
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| "THADDEUS COCKSURE - DUNG ANYONE?" |
“Old Thaddeus had his entire
village wiped out by the plague and its very name disappeared from the map
after medieval times, even the small stone church has gone – including the full
graveyard and plague pit.
In modern times a Gas Holder was
erected over the site and thus there are a couple of hundred spirits, sitting
quite miserably about its roof, wondering what the hell happened to their
homes!”
Tom.
At least I've made a friend here, he's not a resident and when he appears, Mog always tries to stop Larde ---------- (1932-1998) from entering, but a fist bounced off the old miserable git's head does wonders for his customer service skills and makes me and Larde feel better about things!
No one knows Larde's Surname and he never offers to reveal it anyway.
He's a small stocky Scotsman with white hair and beard, no teeth of course (a real salute to poverty that!) and a thick accent that no-one can understand, not a word normally, not even other Scot's!
But for some strange reason, I can usually pick up what he's trying to say, so for you dear readers, I'll translate as best I can - but I cannot guarantee it will be accurate or civil!
Fixed to his head (probably with nails) is a black woollen hat that appears to have nested and simply never moves, I haven't got around to asking why he only wore black & white - he looks like a ghostly negative. He has a thick white jumper with holes at the elbows, a black scarf encrusted with beer stains, off white 'Long-Johns' and a pair of strong black boots without laces.
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| "LARDE." |
What I do know about him is that he made his first appearance some time after me and quickly upset the other residents of the Council run cemetery which is still open for business. His habits of singing dirty songs, drinking to excess, urinating over everything or anyone, swearing, smoking and chasing any dead females, and he will acquire (stealing is too strong a word to use) anything not nailed down - and some things that are - are not very popular there!
Apart from that, he's a good bloke!
By some quirk of fate, he has a tin of 'Tennant's Extra Strength Lager' in his hand, which as if by magic, never empties - no matter how hard he tries to finish it, and he really does try!
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| "REALLY MAGIC BEER!" |
From what I can gather, he was a 'Road Person' when he had flesh and bones, that's a tramp or vagrant to the uneducated, a real old fashioned Hobo Gentleman, polite and thankfull for any donations of food or money. Death changed him somewhat!
Whilst pushing a Tesco shopping trolly, he had a slight mishap with a 42 Tonne, speeding articulated lorry, driven by a sleepy Frenchman, who obviously had no idea there would be an old mad Scotsman and a laden shopping trolly heading towards him on the South-Bound lane of the M9 at two o'clock in the morning with no lights apparent and no intelligence either.......
Well, you can imagine the result of that little collision of European cultures - the Frenchman drove on believing he had gone over a speed-bump and still has no idea that he sent Larde to a far better place (though Larde might debate that conculsion!).
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| "SO THAT'S WHERE LARDE GOT HIS DOOR FROM!" |
“I understand that the trolley
was filled to the brim with the total possessions of his life, including a
stuffed Iguana called 'Winston', which only had one leg, a framed portrait of
Prince Charles, a cardboard box with about 500 packets of 'Rib Tickler' and
'Big Black Man-dingo' condoms which had an expiry date of 1988.
Oh, several copies of 'Horse
& Hound' (The Christmas Special Edition 1967) and six empty fire
extinguishers, but best of all, at least I think so, a complete car door from a
1964 Ford Corsair and the window still moved up and down………….”
Tom.
Apparently, it was a few days before the local police realised that the mess on the Motorway wasn't a very large badger who had bought his own cage with him, so with some embarrassment, they cleaned the 'road kill' up and everything went back to normal, except for Larde, who found himself buried in an unmarked grave, at the cheap end of the local Municipal cemetery.
They didn't even supply a headstone marked 'Unknown' or something similar, so when he's had a few too many, he keeps jumping in other spirit's abodes and thats when the fighting starts!
The only live mourners in attendance was the Grave Digger, a drunk Catholic Priest and a strange middle aged women, who had come to represent the Scottish Badgers Preservation Society, complete with a sign declaring; "NO MORE GASSING BADGERS YOU SWINE!" on one side, and; "VOTE S.N.P." on the other.
The inebriated priest was oblivious to her protests and in the true tradition of the Catholic Church, carried on regardless of the fact he was at the wrong grave - in the wrong cemetery!
The crazy woman shouted obscenities and waved her placard - she and reality had parted company some years before and to say she was a little confused would be an understatement - especially when the fight started between Father Ted Dullspeak (1959-XXXX) and the burly Grave Digger over possession of the stuffed Iguana......
“That’s very naughty of me! Poor
Ted Dullspeak will be shitting bricks when XXXX rolls around!”
Tom.
“Yes, it was Tom, that’s why I censored it!”
The Ghost Writer.
Larde tells me that he had seen several 'deadies' watching from over the small brick wall which surrounds the cemetery and a very nice young girl in a cheap white shroud, explained they couldn't join him because they were 'Volunteers'. Puzzled by this, he found out that suicides were referred to as 'Volunteers' and they were not allowed on any ground which was full of 'Conscripts' - that's us!
Still, he said that they were very nice people and after he was put under, they had a good piss-up and sing-song until the sun came up and they returned to their graves - they also cannot move about the Afterlife's like us ordinary dead folk - quite sad really, but I understand from Lily that after a certain time, they can appeal and maybe assigned a 'Collector' or better still, a 'Corrections Agent'.
“The Ancient Egyptians had the right idea, they filled their
tombs with booze and food for the dead, who can enjoy the afterlife with the
‘spirit’ of such items – I believe those of us stuck here in the Aftertime can
eat & drink (in a non-physical way) because ,whilst we not alive, we’re not
quite fully dead yet!
Larde regularly searches for empty whisky or vodka bottles
discarded about the place and may I give a word of advice to the recently
bereaved: chuck a bottle of booze or packet of fags in with the deceased, you
tight gits!”
Tom.
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| "JUST THROW IN SOME MONEY, HE CAN GET TAKE-AWAYS!" |
Some are quite discontented with their lot in this Afterlife, there are plenty of unhappy Japanese who realise they buggered up and wander about moaning that they were tricked and lied into committing 'Hara-Kiri'; "The Emperor sucks!" is a common saying.
Not to mention the loads of very, very disappointed twats who keep asking any dead passer-by; "Where the hell are our 72 Virgins?"
Now, they are really pissed off.....
Just outside the rear gates of the cemetery, there's a small fenced off area - quite derelict and overgrown, there are no headstones or visible markers for the several 'deadies' that reside there - all suicides.
I did speak to one, a very pleasant old lady, who racked with fatal cancer and in agony, swallowed a bottle of disinfectant to end the awful pain. Her family had the old girl quietly interned here back in 1835 and she's still awaiting the result of her appeal at the Arch-Angel's office - Apparently, the Afterlife Civil Administration is worse than the lifers could ever imagine - they sometimes take centuries to deal with certain matters!
So for a laugh, I decided to appeal and ask to be 'collected' or 'Corrected' and submitted the appropriate forms with the local 'Soul Registry Office' and they were read, stamped, duplicated about twenty times and then forwarded to the 'Appeals Department' in Heaven by the Afterlife Postal Service'.
I received an acknowledgement postcard from them (the stamp would probably be worth a fortune to a lifer!) informing me that my case was pending and my reference number and turn in line was 2,117,234,569.
If I was breathing, I certainly wouldn't hold my breath in anticipation....
“One of the busiest departments
is the 'Corrections Agency’; it's nothing to do with prisons!
The
Angel-in-charge: Margaret, runs a small team of agents whose case-load consists
of spirits who believe they should have a 're-run' of their lives, to correct
mistakes, make good ill-deeds etc. If granted, you can get your life back to
try and live it better – as you can imagine, there’s quite a few applications
for that one!
To be assigned a ‘Corrections
Agent’ is everyone’s dream, probably better than a ‘Collector’ since you can
live again as yourself.”
Tom.
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| "BOY! TIME REALLY FLIES WHEN YOUR DEAD!" |
Well, that's it for now. Larde and I are heading back to the Jewish cemetery because there's a major poker game tonight at the Wells-Steinman family crypt and Larde threw his hand in last time, he really needs to win it back!
He cannot pick his nose, scratch his arse and drink from his tin at the same time with only one hand.
Moses Wells-Steinman (1798-1871) the founder of the Banking dynasty that bears his name, has all three wives still with him - not one has been collected- and he dourly points out that being nagged in triplicate, is no way to spend eternity.
But he loves poker and the card games held in his crypt have become legendary - last week, he lost his front teeth and three ribs to Larde on the turn of one card. Previously Moses had gambled an entire thigh-bone and Isaac Hubris (1803-1845) employs it as a walking stick, at this rate, there won't be a bone left in his casket!
Oh, and remember, don't bother praying at night, Big G (that's God to you) has an 'Out-Of-Hour's answering machine on and he rarely has time to replay 235 million messages every morning.....
No.2 OF 'A SKELETON'S LIFE SERIES:
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| "I'LL RAISE YOU ONE THIGH AND TWO FINGERS!" |
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| FORWARD TO EPISODE 3. "FINAL TIMES." |
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| RETURN TO EPISODE 1. "THE END." |
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| "THE GHOST WRITER!" |