Dearly Beloved...

A eulogy for my friend Craig--

Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to mourn the passing of a hero. Craig T. Nelson was a father, a husband, a friend, and the world's hairiest chessmaster. He wasn't an actor, so if you're here for the funeral because you think it's for the guy from "Coach," you are confused and I'd like to ask you to leave.

What can you say about Craig that hasn't already been screamed about him by his victims? A lot, since he killed stealthily, and few saw him coming. He was opinionated, I think we all know that. When he was a young lad, he joined the American Anarchist Party, not because of political ideals, but because he loved violence so very much.

I guess, really, it all goes back to his childhood. The accounts differ as to whether his mother was a sweet little lady from Mississippi or a jackal, but they all agree on one point: she was probably a jackal.

He was destined for heroism from a very young age. One time, when Craig was a baby, two snakes climbed into his bed. He strangled those snakes to death, just like the mythical Hercules. Then he used his powers to bring them back to life, and they bit his mother to death (make "biting snake" sign with index and middle fingers). Now an orphan just under two-years-old, Craig found himself in need of a job, so he started a coal mine; this was how Craig invented child labor.

Craig never went to school; he learned everything he needed to know by kidnapping scientists and eating their brains. I never quite got how that worked--I asked Craig, and he explained it, but I couldn't understand him with all that brain in his mouth.

Craig grew up fast. By the age of three, he was sixteen-years-old. He got married at eighteen to Lulu, a homunculus he built out of his own skin flakes, rose petals, and some dog turds. She smelled awful, but boy, could she cook! She made the most delicious Italian food, and Craig let her know it. He was always quick with a compliment, almost as quick as he was with his temper--and his fists. After his poo-wife dried up in the sun during a trip to the beach, Craig had a string of failed relationships with a nurse, a succubus, a circus ringmaster, and a female version of himself from a mirror dimension. At one point, he tried to remake Lulu, but she didn't cook or smell the same, and he had to flush her down a giant's toilet.

Craig was also very proud; his respect was hard-won, and he didn't consider any man his equal, unless that man was Dracula. Personally, I think that's just because they were both allergic to garlic, but Craig was a tough read. He'd talk about Dracula all the time. So much so, that this one time, Craig's son Danny said, "Hey, if you love Dracula so much, why don't you marry him?" Well, Craig just stood up calmly, and punched his son's head clean off sure as shootin'. Course, as we all know, the joke was on Craig, because not six months later, Craig and Dracula were joined in holy matrimony--and I've never seen a happier couple in my life.

Craig was a large man, and he would often use this size to his advantage at his job as a car salesman, just cracking his knuckles all scary-like until someone signed that lease--and boy howdy, if you didn't sign that lease, you better have some garlic on you, or he'd punch your head clean off! But he was also big of heart. Several years ago, when our community was being ravaged by werewolves, Craig took it upon himself to clean out the neighborhood with nothing but a bucket of deer blood and a hunting rifle. I tell you, that man was possessed! Nothing could stop him: not the danger of the hunt, not the long hours; not even the sheriff, when we found out that those weren't werewolves at all, but a bunch of neighborhood pets and the Jenkins boy.

It's a tragedy that Craig chose that dark night to put on his murder-hat, climb in the car, and speed down the highway, stink-mouth drunk and screaming at the world. I was in the car, listening to him scream himself hoarse--then he said he was hungry enough to eat a horse, and we pulled over and he gave me a horsey ride on his back. Craig loved horses. I think that's why it just makes sense that he died there in the rain, kicked dead by a horse just passing through the forest for no good reason.

On second thought, Craig wasn't really a hero at all; but Craig was my best friend, and for that I'll always thank him. I'm not a religious man, but when I think about Craig, and the life he led, I know that he's up there looking down on us. Hell is the one that's up, right? As I said, I'm not a religious man, I don't really know. Either way, we can all agree he's in hell. Thank Gob, or whatever that guy's name is.