Eulogy of John B

A swashbuckling man styled of the old west: He was fast with a gun, slick with words, heavy at drink. The good preacher searched for words. “Near as anyone can tell, somewhere in distant sky sits John B, pitching back, looking down on us now.” All eyes were on the early evening campfire, mild breeze blowing, enjoying the muse of cowboy’s stupor. “No more hangovers.” Just then his wife broke in. “I know it was those big ideas done him in.” Reverently she added, “Some say it was whiskey, but I know it wasn’t. No sir, a heavy head like his causes a man to stoop forward.” In the morning all they found was a burnt belt buckle and the faint smell of bacon. “Rest his soul; he’s a lesson to us all,” concluded the preacher.

(There is a real John B. Another man of humor, a friend and former colleague who contributed to this post (but he is alive and well).