You're at the funeral of someone you most dearly love - or perhaps you're the dead-ee and you get to peek in and hear what's being said at the service.
At first blush, you feel very honored because the church - or other facility - is chuck full with what appears to be a slew of dignitaries. The money spent on floral arrangements alone could pay off the house.
But then you realize just who it is up there saying all these flowery things: men (and I use the term loosely) like Henry Kissinger, Dick Cheney, the ever-sobbing George H.W. Bush [hey, if you had kids like his, you'd sob, too], Donny "Stud Muffin" Rumsfeld, and others of that ilk.
Look, if I died and people like that wanted to say wonderful things about me, I'd be really pissed. I'd be thinking, "I really fucked up my life to have such friends!"
Thus, forgive me if I figure that having these men eulogize the late president Gerald Ford is karmic as well as cosmic payback for pardoning Dicky Nixon.
“To know Jerry Ford was to know a Norman Rockwell painting come to life,” said Bush I. ::retch::