squire, what can we do for you?"
Man: "My wife has just died and I'm not sure what to do
Undertaker: Ah, well, we can 'elp you there, sir.
Stiff disposal is our speciality.
Man (shocked): "Stiffs?"
Undertaker: "It's what we calls 'em in the trade,
sir. Stop me if I'm gettin' too technical for you. Now there's three
things we can do with your crumpet - er missus. We can flambé
'er, fry 'er, or grill 'er."
Man: "What's the difference?"
Undertaker: "Well - not a lot really. Either
way she's toast."
Man: "Can't you bury her?"
Undertaker: "Bury her, sir? What a quaint notion.
We 'aven't buried a stiff for nigh on ten years."
Man: "Why ever not?"
Undertaker: "On account of the double parking,
Man: "Double parking?"
Undertaker: "Three-in-a-bed, squire. Skeleton
sandwiches. 'Aven't you 'eard about the shortage of plots? Chances are
your missus would be sharing with a bag-lady from Battersea an' a couple
of estate agents from Esher."
Man: "How horrible!"
Undertaker: "Oh, did you like her, then?"
Man: "Yes! She meant the world to me."
Undertaker: "Oh well, we'll burn her, then."
Man: "But it's so final isn't it - cremation, I mean? Maybe
Undertaker: "You think so? Have you ever slept
wiv an estate agent? Then there's the maggots and the centipedes. They
can be a real pain in the bum if you're not quite dead."
Man: "Oh she's dead allright — see for yourself."
Undertaker: "Mmm, she looks quite young. No
fat; firm thighs and plenty of meat on the breast. She looks good enough
Man: "I beg your pardon?"
Undertaker: "Bert! I think we've got another
Man: "Excuse me! Are you suggesting I should let you eat
Undertaker: "Well — not raw, obviously.
We're not savages, you know. We'd do her proper like. Plenty of garlic
and rosemary and a slow roast at regulo eight. Maybe a piquant apple
sauce to go with the crackling."
Man (aghast): "But that's cannibalism!"
Undertaker: "Well — I wouldn't say cannibalism,
squire. I mean that's eatin' the living isn't it? We only eat the dead.
Responsible recycling Bert calls it. I call it a cryin' shame to bury
a real looker like your missus. As the only alternative is to add to
the global warming crises by crematin' her, we might as well pop her
in the oven overnight on a low light. Now, if she'd been your usual
Man: "-Usual stiff?"
Undertaker: "Yeah - too many fish suppers and
no exercise makes a lousy joint. Our customers like an 'ealthy, low
fat diet so we tend to go for the slimmer stiffs. Your missus is prime
quality, lean cuisine, squire. Tell you what, I'll give you fifty quid
for 'er and we'll do the funeral for nothing."
Man: "Well — I don't know..."
"OK, a 'undred quid and we'll throw in the catering
Contributed by 'Morticia'