Free I Hate Everyone...Starting With Me by Joan Rivers Page B

dysfunctional family.
    And by the way, I hate people who have a giant dog and let him hang his head out the window. They think of it as fun for their bullmastiff. I think of it as nothing more than a bull’s-eye.
    I hate people who don’t understand funeral etiquette. A display of bad manners can really screw up a fun shiva or a merry wake.
    For example, you should never ask the widow about the cause of death; you should know that before you show up at her door. However, if you hate the widow, then by all means bring it up. “Is it true they found Norman just like David Carradine, hanging naked from a shower rod, wearing a horse collar and butt plug?”
    If the widow offers up the cause of death, then it’s perfectly acceptable to dive right into the conversation headfirst. “Jerry died of natural causes.” “How do you define ‘natural’? Were any livestock involved? Jerry was a cutter, no?”
    I hate people who say, “At least he didn’t suffer.” Maybe he did, you don’t know. For some people, a prolonged illness is considered suffering. For others, sitting through a Ben Stiller movie marathon is torture. One man’s pain is another man’s weakness. Don’t judge.
    I hate when people use euphemisms, such as “My Ralphie passed this morning.” No, he didn’t. He’s dead. He’s not passing anything. He can’t move, that’s the whole point, you idiot. He’s lying there like a big lump.
    I hate boring funerals. Funerals are so boring. I like to play games to liven things up, games like Who’s Next? I like to make it every tenth person; trust me, it’ll get you giggling and the hours will fly. Pull My Finger is another terrific picker-upper. Go right up to the widow and say it. Guaranteed to make you feel good, especially if her Herman died of gastritis.
    Always make a joke when looking in the casket, and say it loud enough to be heard over the sobbing. Some good things to say are: “What’s that green shit stuck in his teeth?” or “Guess who’s got a boner?” And my favorite is, “Oops, that’s not Liza Minnelli. Wrong funeral, sorry!”
    I hate people who smirk or make comments during the eulogy. Rolling your eyes should be more than enough.
    I hate people who don’t know how long to stay at a condolence call. Five minutes is too short. That says either you didn’t really care about the deceased or the family or you have something more important to do. (This is especially rude if you’re carrying a bowling ball or fishing tackle.) Rule number one: The amount of time you spend paying respects isdirectly proportionate to the amount of money you’ve been left in the will. If it’s more than six figures, bring a cot to the chapel and move the fuck in.
    Seating at a funeral is important. The front rows are usually reserved for family and lifelong friends. However, if you’re like me and you dressed up, took a cab and canceled a pedicure, then you want to be seen. Look, I know little Susie is missing Daddy, but I’m in Valentino, so let’s get our priorities straight. She’ll miss him forever but this dress will be out of style by September.… I’m sitting up front. And FYI, a quick fashion note: Just because wearing black is no longer a requirement at funerals, you should still try to look decent. You should never, ever wear flip-flops, capri pants or a T-shirt that reads: LET GO OF MY EARS, I KNOW WHAT I’M DOING .
    Which brings up the next thing: No hugging or touching. I hate widows, especially the sloppy kind. We all liked Bernie, but I don’t want mucus on my mink.
    I hate people who bring flowers when the family has requested either no flowers or “in lieu of…” The most appropriate gift is a donation to the person’s favorite charity, or their alma mater, or the Bunny Ranch if that’s where he spent most of his free time.
    And finally, it is always good manners to send a note or card offering condolences. Amy Vanderbilt sent out 237 individual suicide notes. All in