The institution fondly referred to as promotion to glory but better known as death is one that, like it or not, we must at least once come into intimate contact with. By and large we have no choice in the matter. But during this inevitable point in our existence, there usually is a ceremony to bid us goodbye, Godspeed and good luck on our next step of our existence. This tends to be an interview with a gentleman by the name of St. Peter, and among his possessions is something he fondly refers to as the Book of Life. You give your name and wait patiently with crossed fingers and toes as the names in the book are compared to yours and the results of this comparison will either result in you taking going downstairs to a – ah – warmer environment, or upstairs, where lions lay down with lambs.
But I digress. Prior to those aforementioned events, one generally tends to have a funeral, where there is usually much weeping and wailing by friends and foes alike, to send you off. And a key part of this ceremony is something known as a eulogy. And for some reason all the eulogies I have ever heard have been flowing ones, even when the late soul being buried was a first class rascal. Most people listen with fascination as the virtues of the deceased, which were clearly well hidden, are brought to light. I once met a disgruntled relative who dismissed the send off given to his cousin as a ‘tissue of lies’. True, they were cousins so far removed as to be out of sight, but still they were blood.
But suppose one day someone stood up at the somber occasion and went on to say:
“Thank you my friends for giving me the opportunity to speak on this solemn occasion as we lay our Kip to his eternal rest. I have known him very well, as a matter of fact my whole lifetime, which is why I find all that has been said about him by the good people that have spoken before me puzzling. Puzzling to the extreme! For instance, his uncle said something about that gent being kind to animals. We all know Kip was nothing remotely of the kind. If he was not kind to his own children he will be unlikely to be kind to the beasts of the field. His neighbours will no doubt testify to the enraged squeals regularly heard from his cats in the middle of the night. Many of us will also recall the clatter of tin cans and falling objects that regularly emanated from that gentleman's home. The missing fur on those animals is no doubt in some way connected with this activity.
“I also advise the well wishers present to notice the sets of six scars on his sadly battered hound and remember that six studs are commonly found on the soles of rugby boots. Many of us no doubt saw old Kip play soccer with that hapless mongrel. And we all know when I say he was playing soccer with this dog I am not speaking figuratively -- at no time was a soccer ball, or indeed any ball present during these games.
“As for that lady who paid tribute to his honesty and integrity I do beg to differ. If ever there ever was a pathological liar, Kip was. Even when the man said 'Good Morning' he was lying through his three teeth. He’d even lie to you if you asked him ‘how are you’!
“And I take issue with Ongeri’s reference to our Kip's intelligence. We all know he had the IQ of half a boiled cabbage. As our mutual friend Dr. Okoth can testify, even blood tests were a problem. Yes, he was not the sharpest tool in the shed.
“And those two who spent half an hour of our time telling us about his inspiration cannot have been more confusing if they had been paid to. We all know the only thing Kip inspired us to do was take a bath daily and brush regularly.
“This brings me to his gifts. Gifts! Someone spoke about his gifts and how he touched lives. Well, the only gift of his that I know of was his capacity for food and drink. He certainly touched those! His rate and capacity for consumption were the most impressive that I have ever seen!”
A eulogy indeed…
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