I think I am very sick. What would you do?
Dearest Friends, It's your favorite raconteur, Buddy Werbenjägermanjensen, inviting you to my last hurrah. On the date heretofore prescribed, I’ll be trading in this earthly four-legged vessel for a puffy cloud in Heaven, and I need you all to join me for my Party Until Permanently Passed-out Yonder! This Puppy ain't your old hound's dirge-fest, I tell ya. Nope. I'm gonna make a New Orleans Jazz funeral look like snails snoozing on sedated sloths.
Date: When I'm done here?
Time: Happy hour PM, until I choke on a rib or something.
Location: Smell the stop sign on Stover and Holiday Lakes, then follow your nose.
Prepare yourselves for a banquet that would make the gods green with envy. We'll have the finest meats, cheeses, and enough wine to float Noah’s Ark. No morsel will be left untasted, no bowl unemptied. Let’s revel in merriment, share a laugh, and toast to the beautiful chaos of life. Don’t worry, I’ve got enough tongue to lick clean every greasy finger and face in the neighborhood.
Yours in gluttony, Buddy Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt Werbenjägermanjensen, soon-to-be heavenly gourmet
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