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I was thinking, if ghosts could write their own epitaphs, imagine the creativity! It would be like, "Here lies Casper, the friendly ghost. Not so friendly when he was alive, though. He was more of a 'keep to himself' kind of guy. But hey, he's a real social butterfly now!" And what about those friendly ghosts who want to keep it light-hearted? "Died doing what he loved: scaring the living daylights out of people. If you're reading this, boo!"
But seriously, how did we go from hieroglyphics on cave walls to "RIP" on a headstone? We need to step up our post-mortem communication game. I want a holographic projection of my greatest hits playing over my grave. A little comedy routine, perhaps? "Why did the ghost go to the party? Because he heard it was going to be a 'boo'last!
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Have you noticed that headstones are like the OG social media profiles? It's like, "Here lies Emily. Follow her on the spiritual plane @EternalEmily. She's currently haunting her ex-boyfriend's dreams." But seriously, if we had a Facebook for the afterlife, think about the friend requests. You'd get one from your long-lost great-great-grandma who passed away in 1832. And she'd be commenting on your photos like, "Back in my day, we didn't have smartphones. We communicated through seances and Ouija boards."
And let's not forget about the ghost influencers. "Hey, guys! Just crossed over to the other side. Shoutout to my sponsor, the light at the end of the tunnel. Use code GHOSTLY for 10% off your transition to the afterlife!
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You ever notice how headstones are like tiny billboards for dead people? I mean, seriously, who came up with the idea of engraving someone's life story on a slab of rock? Are they expecting visitors to give it a Yelp review? I was at a cemetery the other day, reading these headstones, and they're like, "Here lies Joe, loving husband, caring father, and the guy who could never parallel park." I mean, really? Even in death, we can't escape our terrible parking reputation?
But you know what I find even more confusing? The dates on these things. You've got the birthdate, a dash, and then the date of death. It's like, "Hey, congratulations, you made it through the dash! Good job!" I'm just waiting for someone to spice it up a bit, like, "Born in '75, died in 2075, took a detour through the year 3000. Time travel is real, folks!"
Seems like we're all just one bad parallel park away from our final resting place. Maybe in the afterlife, St. Peter's judging us not on our sins but on our ability to merge on the celestial highway.
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You know, we always talk about grave diggers like they're the unsung heroes of the funeral industry. But think about it, they're basically professional hole-diggers. That's their job! If you're six feet under, it's because these guys know how to dig a hole really well. I imagine grave diggers have their own secret society, like the Hole Diggers Association. They probably have a secret handshake that involves a shovel, a twist, and a salute to the great hole in the ground. And if you mess up the handshake, they bury you in a shallow grave as punishment.
But hey, let's give it up for the grave diggers. They're the ones who make sure we have a comfortable spot for our eternal nap. "Here lies Bob, peacefully resting in a hole dug by the Picasso of grave diggers. May the dirt be soft and the worms be polite.
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