If like Peaches, you believe celebrities, living or dead, really did crash this Fake Obit, then you’re likely in an altered state under a coffee table with The Only Adult in The Room who’s forgotten her own name, unlike Pitt Brad Pitt.
Our Pointless Review Section has nothing whatsoever to do with Dennis, his life, his death, or his after-death, and thus is irrelevant, pointless, and confusing.
Reviews don’t belong in obituaries, much less one pretending to be an obit. So we’ve included them. Reviews typically contain content associated with reviewing. So we haven’t bothered with that.
Every Uninvited Guest, real or imagined, is purely a victim of Not the Mom’s addled imagination. If this explanation leaves you feeling disoriented and lost, congratulations! Consider yourself all caught up.
Uninvited Guest List, and their Final Thoughts
Really Salty Dead Guy 💀 [Crickets....]
Dennis Lord 1st, Den's Dad: Never leave a writing task to Not the Mom. #WordsToLiveAndDieLessPainfullyBy
Hunter, Grace, Jackson: What Dad said, with more emphasis!!!
Mike, Den's other Dad: I suffered through the Stiff Notes, but if you didn't put on a Hazmat Reading Suit and ventured further than that, you have only yourself to blame. #CannotUnreadThatShit
Aunty Pat: If the word "pissy" were not in this, it might be read by people with some class.
My Bill: Then I definitely can't read it.
#AllClassNoAct
Kim: Hey, Dead Posse! Same time next week?!!
Jason A.: Hey, hey. Not so fast. Not so loud. Hold on there, courageous little Kimmy. Let’s tiptoe toward the door...Isn't that fun? On tiptoe. Indoor shoes, see? Like indoor voices? You with me? I'm right behind you. See the door?
Jimbo: "Go confidently in the direction of your dreams! Live the life you’ve imagined." Which is inherently one that does not require reading badly written fake obituaries.
(" "Henry David Thoreau, Goalcast)
Uncle Bob: Thinking I'm in need of an After Fake Obit drinking game...
Dead Posse: That would be Posse approved, Uncle Bob.
Uncle Tom: Only marines have game. FUBAR or bust.
Uncle Joe: Great Sequel Games! I'm off to replenish my bar! Supplies are low but my tip jar runneth over!
Joey: I'm in, soslong as Aunty Leesa's slerving some eats this time.
Aunty Leesa: I would love to, but Uncle Bob's pursuing a class action lawsuit against my mac-n-cheese ban for Den. Get him to drop the charges, and I'll consider it. But no cheesy mac is on the table in this negotiation.
Peaches: That like sucks. How come 💀 gets to take the pasta with him? Isn't there like a saying about that?
Jazz: ES Peach, don't sweat it. I heard a rumor there's a mac stash in Aunty Leesa's hidden freezer.
Aunty Marcia: There's at least $500 in Uncle Joe's tip jar for anyone who finds that damned freezer and breaks out the pasta.
Aunty Nancy: Back off. I'm adding that to a collection bowl Drummer Jonah emptied, to pay for some hefty garden damage fees. I'll get into the freezer. I have one bullet left.
Dead Posse: That's all she needs.
Darlena: I can't believe I'm still at risk for being shot by a relative.
Dead Posse: If you're in her line of site, she won't miss.
Darlena: Please don't give her ideas.
Uncle Barry: Nancy, put down your weapons. I'm going to walk Aunty Leesa off the insanity cliff about banning very important recipes. She can complete my Chefs Without Empathy Anon recovery program in less time than it took to get to the end of page one of this Fake Obit.
Kathleen: I'd prescribe something to Aunty Leesa to assist you, but I had to treat so many upset celebrities in the driveway, I've run out of blank prescriptions.
Not the Mom: Well, I think it's very sweet that Aunty Leesa is forbidding anyone to enjoy her most popular recipe, in honor of Den. I'd like to forbid something, but I only make three things worth a bite, so that would really limit my food choices.
Darlena: You couldn't forbid us from reading this?! As if we needed more proof that you've lost your mind, only someone certifiable would think prohibiting a national pasta treasure is a good idea. Aunty's ban is criminal, which is why we have to press charges. At least she didn't take away her chocolate peanut butter balls.
Aunty Leesa: Hmmm...I hadn't thought of that. Den loved those!
Not the Mom: Oh, my gosh! He made the most artistic versions of those for me at Christmas one year. He was like a peanut butter Michelangelo, just sculpting away.
Darlena: That comparison is so disturbing, I'm not sure I actually care now.
Aunty Marcia: Aunty Leesa, please consider only banning those from Darlena. Please keep in mind that whenever she speaks, the rest of us are innocent bystanders, especially when Aunt Nancy is armed.
Aunty Leesa: I'll take that into consideration. While Incredible Incredulous Uncle Joe is restocking his 2 Star Bar, would anyone care for one of my vodka and sodas in a very chic cocktail glass?
All of Us: Hard pass.
Extreme Volunteer Tallier: Just popping in to inform Beleaguered Readers that I survived this arduous extreme ordeal without ravioli or compensation. I had to rely solely on my witty banter and large quantities of alcohol. With notably less bitching than Only Adult, I've earned enough points from the Committee for Hot Mess Volunteering to be knighted by the Queen for Extreme Bravery during a Family Obituary Battle. My fake British accent will finally be put to good use. I did sell a few martini-influenced celebrity signatures to the espionage trio, Grace, Hunter, and Jackson. Well, except for Pitt Brad Pitt. He signed his nickname Brad Pitt, so the fake guard dogs are chewing on that one. While they're distracted, you might want to locate Aunty Leesa's fake freezer. You're welcome. I just can't seem to stop myself from doing more to assist this starving group of whackos. It's my altruism getting the better of me. But unlike the Rest of You, doomed to combo orders of sad page + bleak candle + disturbing updates, when I cross over and make dwindling Dead Posse's acquaintance, my efforts here have qualified me for a professional and dignified NY Times write-up! That's right! I'm in! And this, despite my appalling family tree. As you know, an actual honorable obituary is reserved for the rich and famous, but if you risk your life in the service of extreme duty, apparently you also qualify. Doubtfire out.
Darlena: If that's the case, reading any part of this qualifies. For those of you who didn't read it, your pathetic obit will speak for itself. I, on the other, hand, have earned a proper sendoff. Let's celebrate with one of Uncle Joe's recovery cocktails.
Peaches: Does that mean like water?
Aunty Marcia: Very good, Chan! Yes, it's the last one on the chalkboard menu: Lees's Vodka and Soda Mocktail. So, hmmm...I read the first paragraph, or maybe the first sentence. Whatever. Cheers to our future happy traditional obituaries! Go us!
All of Us: Cheers! Bottoms up! Mazeltov! Down the hatch! Here's to the reading survivors!
NY Times Obituary Editor: If I'm unlucky enough to be alive when your various uninteresting deaths occur, I'm only agreeing to one groupon obituary for the whacko lot of you, buried in the Science section, as an experiment titled Scientists Refuse to Study Nutcases Who Experienced One Hot Mess of an Obituary.
All of Us: Deal.
Still Pretty Salty Dead Guy 💀 [More Crickets....]
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