I tell ya, cemeteries and golf courses are the biggest wastes of space.

Well at least someone is doing something useful with all that wasted space.

Are we for sure that they aren't zombies?

cgraves67: Are we for sure that they aren't zombies?

I LOL'd.

Rapmaster2000: I tell ya, cemeteries and golf courses are the biggest wastes of space.

Ironic that the guy in the first photo is wearing a Jack Nicklaus t-shirt.

OldManDownDRoad: Rapmaster2000: I tell ya, cemeteries and golf courses are the biggest wastes of space.

I'm with ya on that. Every time I drive past a golf course, I imagine the golfers put to work tilling the crops that were planted there instead.

/Chairman Mao was correct

I actually stole that line from Caddyshack, but anywhoo I often think of how golf courses are a waste of space as I'm golfing. After I finish a round I think "well, that was an expensive way to walk around and drink."

But it's business so I go.

Rapmaster2000: I tell ya, cemeteries and golf courses are the biggest wastes of space.

Agreed though I hate golf courses more because they get exemptions from water restrictions. That really irks me.

Is this another one of those Occupy things?

Stupefied by alcohol, a man slumps on top of a tomb.

Well, who hasn't?

I live on a golf course - tainted by depleted uranium and unexploded bombs. Everyday I become a little more zombie like.

Bod?

Not a bad gig - your neighbors are quiet, your landscapers are free, no rowdy visitors past dusk, and you get flowers delivered to your doorstep every day.

If I didn't buy that plot of land in Tellico Village from Ponch I'd be looking into this.

Believe the word I will unlock my door and pass the cemetery gates.

For the last decade, I've worked the night shift security at a sprawling cemetery. Ever few weeks a new hobo shows up who thinks he can make camp in the isolated woodlands surrounding the property. He'll linger for a few days until I find him, sprawled across a grave, stinking drunk, looking deader than most of the cold meat that passes through my hands. The first time, he gets a bucket of cold bodily fluids thrown on him, courtesy of the embalming room, and a warning he'd better clear out. Most of them do, but a few sticky bastards don't take the warning, and I have to get serious. The next time I catch them, I seal them up in a coffin, either alone, or with a fresh corpse if one's available. When they wake up in the morning, I let them bang around in there, screaming and hollering, "I'M NOT DEAD! I'M NOT DEAD!" Well, maybe not physically, but surely metaphysically. Usually, when I let them out there so freaked out from withdrawals, minor asphyxiation, and terror, that I have to whack them a time or two with the shovel to get them settled down. If that still doesn't clear them out, well, then, there's always room at the Bottom of the Grave Inn.

spentmiles: For the last decade, I've worked the night shift security at a sprawling cemetery. Ever few weeks a new hobo shows up who thinks he can make camp in the isolated woodlands surrounding the property. He'll linger for a few days until I find him, sprawled across a grave, stinking drunk, looking deader than most of the cold meat that passes through my hands. The first time, he gets a bucket of cold bodily fluids thrown on him, courtesy of the embalming room, and a warning he'd better clear out. Most of them do, but a few sticky bastards don't take the warning, and I have to get serious. The next time I catch them, I seal them up in a coffin, either alone, or with a fresh corpse if one's available. When they wake up in the morning, I let them bang around in there, screaming and hollering, "I'M NOT DEAD! I'M NOT DEAD!" Well, maybe not physically, but surely metaphysically. Usually, when I let them out there so freaked out from withdrawals, minor asphyxiation, and terror, that I have to whack them a time or two with the shovel to get them settled down. If that still doesn't clear them out, well, then, there's always room at the Bottom of the Grave Inn.

You had me until I got to "embalming fluid..." then I'm like pshaw, he's pulling my leg.

spentmiles: The next time I catch them, I seal them up in a coffin, either alone, or with a fresh corpse if one's available..

I came for the Thrilla in Manilla ref and am very disappoint.

Mr. Toadcheese: Stupefied by alcohol, a man slumps on top of a tomb.

Well, who hasn't?

We know Peter and Dennis did in New Orleans. Pre- Katrina.

OldManDownDRoad: Rapmaster2000: I tell ya, cemeteries and golf courses are the biggest wastes of space.

I'm with ya on that. Every time I drive past a golf course, I imagine the golfers put to work tilling the crops that were planted there instead.

/Chairman Mao was correct

Actually, The meaning of the word "links" comes from the fact that the area of land "links" the land with the sea. The land, due to its sandy nature was unsuitable for building houses, and equally unsuitable for farmland due to the salt content of the turf.

so no crops were tilled in the creation of links courses.

Goth's got nuthin' on these folks.

Cue Grampa Simpson...

spentmiles: For the last decade, I've worked the night shift security at a sprawling cemetery. Ever few weeks a new hobo shows up who thinks he can make camp in the isolated woodlands surrounding the property. He'll linger for a few days until I find him, sprawled across a grave, stinking drunk, looking deader than most of the cold meat that passes through my hands. The first time, he gets a bucket of cold bodily fluids thrown on him, courtesy of the embalming room, and a warning he'd better clear out. Most of them do, but a few sticky bastards don't take the warning, and I have to get serious. The next time I catch them, I seal them up in a coffin, either alone, or with a fresh corpse if one's available. When they wake up in the morning, I let them bang around in there, screaming and hollering, "I'M NOT DEAD! I'M NOT DEAD!" Well, maybe not physically, but surely metaphysically. Usually, when I let them out there so freaked out from withdrawals, minor asphyxiation, and terror, that I have to whack them a time or two with the shovel to get them settled down. If that still doesn't clear them out, well, then, there's always room at the Bottom of the Grave Inn.

8/10 not bad

Manila is one the biggest shiatholes I have ever been to. What a horrible place.

spentmiles: For the last decade, I've worked the night shift security at a sprawling cemetery. Ever few weeks a new hobo shows up who thinks he can make camp in the isolated woodlands surrounding the property. He'll linger for a few days until I find him, sprawled across a grave, stinking drunk, looking deader than most of the cold meat that passes through my hands. The first time, he gets a bucket of cold bodily fluids thrown on him, courtesy of the embalming room, and a warning he'd better clear out. Most of them do, but a few sticky bastards don't take the warning, and I have to get serious. The next time I catch them, I seal them up in a coffin, either alone, or with a fresh corpse if one's available. When they wake up in the morning, I let them bang around in there, screaming and hollering, "I'M NOT DEAD! I'M NOT DEAD!" Well, maybe not physically, but surely metaphysically. Usually, when I let them out there so freaked out from withdrawals, minor asphyxiation, and terror, that I have to whack them a time or two with the shovel to get them settled down. If that still doesn't clear them out, well, then, there's always room at the Bottom of the Grave Inn.

I wish you'd compile a book with all the interesting lives you've lived over the years. You could write it as a crotchety old man type, and include all the interesting stuff from your Fark posts.

It would be funny, entertaining, and much more interesting to read than most fiction now-a-days.

spentmiles: For the last decade, I've worked the night shift security at a sprawling cemetery. Ever few weeks a new hobo shows up who thinks he can make camp in the isolated woodlands surrounding the property. He'll linger for a few days until I find him, sprawled across a grave, stinking drunk, looking deader than most of the cold meat that passes through my hands. The first time, he gets a bucket of cold bodily fluids thrown on him, courtesy of the embalming room, and a warning he'd better clear out. Most of them do, but a few sticky bastards don't take the warning, and I have to get serious. The next time I catch them, I seal them up in a coffin, either alone, or with a fresh corpse if one's available. When they wake up in the morning, I let them bang around in there, screaming and hollering, "I'M NOT DEAD! I'M NOT DEAD!" Well, maybe not physically, but surely metaphysically. Usually, when I let them out there so freaked out from withdrawals, minor asphyxiation, and terror, that I have to whack them a time or two with the shovel to get them settled down. If that still doesn't clear them out, well, then, there's always room at the Bottom of the Grave Inn.

appropriate troll is appropriate

/lol

OldManDownDRoad: Rapmaster2000: I tell ya, cemeteries and golf courses are the biggest wastes of space.

I'm with ya on that. Every time I drive past a golf course READ FARK, I imagine the golfers FARKERS put to work tilling the crops that were planted there instead.

/Chairman Mao was correct

-- FTFY

BurnShrike: It would be funny, entertaining, and much more interesting to read than most fiction now-a-days.

I'd read it.

Braindeath: BurnShrike: It would be funny, entertaining, and much more interesting to read than most fiction now-a-days.

I'd read it.

you just did. cool story bro.

Looks exactly like it did in 1986 when I lived there... well, I didn't live THERE but I lived in the Philippines.

I was there in October '94. Every park in the city was full of squatters from the surrounding country who had come looking for work.

triplenickel03: I came for the Thrilla in Manilla ref and am very disappoint.



Grinds what is left of his teeth at your shenanigans.

wombatsrus: triplenickel03: I came for the Thrilla in Manilla ref and am very disappoint.

[cdn.screenrant.com image 570x309]

Grinds what is left of his teeth at your shenanigans.

damn just beat me to it!

Rapmaster2000: I tell ya, cemeteries and golf courses are the biggest wastes of space.

How about lawns in general? I'll never understand Western civilization's obsession with growing sod like it is a revered god. I might be crazy, but some people actually grow food on land.

Pretty sure my grandmother's buried there.

lyndsayj: Pretty sure my grandmother's buried there.

No, I left her in the forest for the wolves.

spentmiles: For the last decade, I've worked the night shift security at a sprawling cemetery. Ever few weeks a new hobo shows up who thinks he can make camp in the isolated woodlands surrounding the property. He'll linger for a few days until I find him, sprawled across a grave, stinking drunk, looking deader than most of the cold meat that passes through my hands. The first time, he gets a bucket of cold bodily fluids thrown on him, courtesy of the embalming room, and a warning he'd better clear out. Most of them do, but a few sticky bastards don't take the warning, and I have to get serious. The next time I catch them, I seal them up in a coffin, either alone, or with a fresh corpse if one's available. When they wake up in the morning, I let them bang around in there, screaming and hollering, "I'M NOT DEAD! I'M NOT DEAD!" Well, maybe not physically, but surely metaphysically. Usually, when I let them out there so freaked out from withdrawals, minor asphyxiation, and terror, that I have to whack them a time or two with the shovel to get them settled down. If that still doesn't clear them out, well, then, there's always room at the Bottom of the Grave Inn.

Not bad--you've certainly worked on it a bit. Sure sounds better than "find teenagers drinking, making out or horsing around, call the real cops."