This is my eulogy for Hotspur. No, he is not dead, may he have many more days of good health, chardonnay at the ghetto bar, and correcting my grammar. Go kick Wiser in the shins if you don’t like this.
I’m going to do this right and start it off with an appropriate song.
I thought about mentioning how old Hotspur was. There’s the jokes like “he’s so old, when he was born, the Dead Sea wasn’t even sick.” Well, he did grow up with William Wallace. See if you can pick Hotspur out of the crowd here. He gave Mona Lisa her smile. It was when she saw Hotspur nekkid. His first computer was an iAbacus. (Good thing he didn’t ship it to the New World via Scott, or he might still be unwrapping it.) He also met Davy Crockett and insisted on stealing his hats, which his friends thought was a great prank.
When he told his family he loved 15-year-old Scotch, his family thought he meant the drink until he brought home Hotbride. For those of you who haven’t been lucky enough to meet Hotbride, let’s just say Hotspur married up. She was very kind to me, considering I went all Hostage on Hotspur’s personal blog and made a comment about sweater puppies.
Hotspur has always been a hard worker. He lived in Battle Creek for a while, coming up with the classic kids’ cereals You’re Adopted Bran, Lice Krispies, CheeriHoes, Porn Flakes, and Post Lemon Party Crunch.
After that career ended, he began his home construction business, Hotspur Solutions!. That went well until The Couple From Hell™ showed up. These people put the hurt on Hotspur so bad, stock in Jagermeister went up $4 a share. Mrs. Satan wanted “just one more change”, and Hotspur just snapped. Then Mr. Satan started bitching about how Hotspur should have used hickory instead of ash for the shovel handle, and you can guess what happened next. The trial was sensational. With BiW calling the shots from afar, Jazz volunteered to be Hotspur’s lawyer and somehow got Carin, Leon, MCPO’s son, and Pendejo Grande on the jury. (You say, but wait, Pendejo lives in Texas. Pendejo will do anything for the right amount of booze.) XBrad was also supposed to be on the jury, but he was busted for running cheap cigarettes to Canada. The Hostage team successfully freed Hotspur with “they needed killin’” defense. He kicked the prosecutor in the ass with dick slippers on the way out of court. Hotspur’s later customers would bring him a bag of money and then disappear. “Let us know when you’re finished. Please. Sir.”
Hotspur grew more and more restless each day without people to abuse him, until the fateful day when Rosetta said, “I need Bloody Mary mix, potatoes (non-ass variety), Kwanzaa candles, Snausages, a shock collar, rubber gloves, lime, large garbage bags, ten white pine seedlings (raaaaacist), sixteen cartons of cigarettes, Vermont maple syrup, the entire Buffy DVD set, a toupee, a case of Fat Tire beer, a turducken, a batch of homemade brownies, tiki torches, and a girl in a bikini.” Hotspur jumped up and yelled, “I got the girl!” He sailed off in his boat
and was never heard from again.
Now we mourn the loss of someone dear, a loving husband, a brave rescue diver, and an art connoisseur. Someone who made sure the tagline matched the header, someone who once tried snorting coke, but the ice cubes got stuck in his nose, someone who once put a KISS tape in his grandson’s Teddy Ruxpin doll. The only other Hostage besides Rosetta not afraid to wear a skirt. I never did get to tell him how much I cared for him, how much I enjoyed his company in St. Louis, and I never got a chance to do that research we talked about, space environment effects on slightly used rubber fists, with and without lube.
We will remember him how he wanted to be remembered:
Comment by Hotspur on October 12, 2011 4:32 pm
Let’s be bad so Mommy has to spank us. Me first.
Smooth sailing, Hotspur.
**raises glass in toast**