Eulogy for Zen Clown

(As if you could...)

The evil that men do lives after them. The good is oft' interred with their bones.

(If they could get the bullshit out of you, they could bury you in a shoebox.)

The noble Aimless (and Dude and Rex and Matt and everybody else) hath said that Zen was ambitious. (they think you're an idiot) If it were so, it was a grevious fault and greviously hath Zen answered for it.

(What's your point?)

Well...I don't know...I guess I haven't thought this out.

(You're baiting Rex, aren't you.)

In a way, I suppose, but any Shakespeareian response by anyone will do.

(You are pathetic.)

*sigh*

Of course he was blaming it on the dog.

What can you say about an old drunk who dies? That he wasn't nearly so dead a while ago? That he loved his hootch, his sweet cootchie-coo, the loo (when he had a load on), and me?

Zen Clown had so much to live for. We know this because, although he was able to kick the living habit any time he felt like it, yet he persevered at staying in his skin right up to the moment he got kicked out of it. Before he died, he said, "It's not how often you drop your trousers, but the poetry I bring to it - the ineffable pile of my pant legs as they heap up at my ankles." In this he was much in agreement with Gypsy Rose Lee, who is also dead.

We shouldn't be sad now that Zen Clown has left us for good. He wouldn't want us to be sad. He would want us to be happy, like puppies, like children, like idiots. He'd want to hear us chortling, or failing that, snorting with ribald glee. That is why he insisted on an open casket memorial and why he saluted us one last time with trousers at quarter mast as he lay there, looking so pallid and lifelike, so inert, so plastered out of his mind. I could almost hear him snoring. But that was the Dude.

Now, let us all bow our heads and inspect our feet for a few moments of silently wishing we were not so god damn hung over...

There. That oughta do it. Who's up to lugging this sucker out the door? I'm warning you all right now - if we drop him, I'm not putting him back in the box!

That was beautiful.

The sooner everyone is drunk the sooner the real stories of Zen and Sue, or Zen and CJ, or Zen and Matt, or any of a thousand perverted sexual conquests he imagined actually happened.

That was quite a touching speach Aimless, we can only hope that you are not off on some extended walk up a mountain when "the time" comes.

Is he still alive? Bloody hell. Someone should have shot that bastard years ago.

i miss you, dude steel.