And now, for the crème de la crème. Dickless Wonder wrote his own eulogy.
http://fb.me/6zUaO7KnN
“Why is this narrative coming to you in the first person if I’m dead? C’mon now, a former journalist turned narcissistic dad blogger would NEVER leave his eulogy up to someone else to deliver. Which means even though I’ve shuffled off this mortal coil, you’ve still got to listen to me at least one more time.â€
Well, finally, something we can agree on!
“Who was Aaron Gouveia? Truthfully, I was kind of a dick. Especially during my capricious youth. Someone once swore they’d deliver my eulogy with the opening line of “He’s a son of a bitch and I’m glad he’s dead.†But my mom was always kind of an asshole anyway. Seriously though, I did a lot of things years ago I’m not very proud of and if I could do it all again — well, I wouldn’t actually change anything because it truly was a blast and I had a helluva time.â€
Wow, now we’re blaming Mom for the fact you were a total asshat? Just when I think you couldn’t stoop any lower. Oh, who am I kidding? You’re a narcissist. Nothing’s ever your fault. You can do no wrong and damn anyone who says otherwise.
Of course you wouldn’t change anything. Being the selfish, narcissistic individual you are, you would gladly have a good time even at the expense of others. I’m sure there will be a shit ton of people who will be so fucking glad you’re gone, your own famblee included.
“Things changed later in life for the same reason most men finally grow up — a good woman.â€
I’m sorry, but you haven’t grown up. Not at all.
“I had no business dating my wife let alone getting the opportunity to be her husband. People asked me if I brainwashed or drugged her, and I didn’t even take it as an insult because she was obviously so far out of my league. She never forced me to change, she made me want to improve myself, especially if I ever wanted to have kids.â€
Oh, but you forced her to change, didn’t you? You constantly berated her about how fast she runs, her body, whatever nasty things you could throw at her. Of course, it helped that she’s mentally ill, because no sane woman would ever date you let alone marry you.
“Kids. My two boys Will and Sam.â€
Ooo, I’d looove to know what they’d have to say. Oh well, maybe we’ll be treated to an honest obituary.
“Forget the writing awards, professional accomplishments, and even watching my beloved Patriots, Red Sox, Celtics, and Bruins win multiple titles over the years. My sons were, are, and forever will be my greatest source of pride and the only truly good things I’ve ever done. Watching them grow up while guiding them and simultaneously learning from them was the privilege of my life, and something for which I’ll always be eternally grateful. Being around them is the closest this heathen atheist has ever been to heaven, and I’ll miss that when I get to wherever the heck you go after you die. I don’t believe in Hell, but being reborn a Yankees fan has to come close.â€
Until they reach an age where they decide they want to take their own path and not the one you planned for them. Maybe young William will join a heavy metal band, get tattoos, grow out his hair and come home covered in piercings. Or maybe Samuel will be interested in art. Then you’ll probably treat them like shit because they’re not following your dreams.
And if one of them turns out to be gay, heaven help the poor kid. He’ll be disowned.
“As for my earthly belongings, I spent my life working as a writer which means I died with a full heart but empty pockets. Hopefully the things I’ve left with those of you who loved me transcend material goods. But if not, there’s an old lottery ticket hanging on my fridge with coordinates that lead to a desert location.â€
Hmmmm… I doubt that will sit well with your kids. If they don’t outright hate you, they’ll at least want an inheritance. And I’m not talking about a stupid old lottery ticket.
“My last wish is to put a keg on my coffin, drink a toast in my honor, and tell wildly inappropriate yet utterly amusing stories in which I finally come across as cool. Let those stories echo in my absence and write a few of them down if you could. After all, it’s the stories that live on, and the only real hell for a narcissistic former journalist turned dad blogger is being forgotten.â€
Yeah, especially if it’s a scandalous tell all book written by one of your kids.
My Life As a Child of a Parent Blogger
By William Gouveia and Lucy Ahern
Dedication: To our parents. Be grateful we’re writing anything about you at all.