Eulogy for Truett (may he live a long, happy life)


I was present on the day Truett was born, operating the video camera for his parents, who I’d met earlier that day during a tennis match I was umpiring. He entered the world in the style of a wild west gunslinger, his two little hands appearing first, pushing back saloon-door labia, then his head emerged and, though the doctors later put this down to the apportion of anesthetic among all gathered, I swear he looked up at us, scowled and said, “What you boys gawpin’ at?”

And he maintained this sassy pretense throughout his life (I always postulated upon a softer side to his character, though I have never seen evidence of its existence), which did not falter on the day he died. Lying upon his death bed, proclaimed too old to possibly still be alive, by every medical specialist in Texas, he reached for the phone and dialed Kneebone Robinson, largely considered to be the most dangerous man this side of Botembé, and brazenly confessed to seducing Kneebone’s partner, Dennis (a crime for which he was totally innocent, you know). Truett calmly reached for his sawn-off Uzi (he was the only man I ever knew who used to saw-off guns, no matter how small they originally were), emptied it of its ammunition, and held it pointed at the door, in anticipation of Kneebone’s arrival. Of course, even in lieu of bullets and quite ready to be euthanized, Truett still had the upper hand and, to this day, Kneebone still can’t talk without stuttering.

Anyway, ashes to ashes, Par tem ar peraminus, goodbye old friend.

3 Responses to “Eulogy for Truett (may he live a long, happy life)”

  1. ljuke Says:

    To explain; my twitter-friend @truett suggested that, when he dies, he’d like me to write the story of his life and/or death and tell it at his funeral. Now, I’m no Eugugalogizer or anything, but I HAVE been reading Et Tu Babe by Mark Leyner recently (and upping my caffeine intake to nauseating levels), and I’m always up for a good writing exercise. So this is my Eulogy for Truett (who I’ve never met).

  2. If those boys want to fight you better let ’em.

  3. Can you do mine? I don’t want any of that flowery shit though. Something like, …blah blah, he gave more than he took, he didn’t bake no donuts for any motherfucker, blah blah…

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