I have a rendezvous with Death
And when I see her, we are gonna have WORDS.
It's been a dark few days fer us here at the Agency, I gotta say. But Sandi finally convinced me to stop drinkin' the grain alcohol (wasn't workin' on me anyway, but it's the thought that counts), get up off the floor and type a few words. She says it'll help me "sort through things," but really I think she just wanted me ta get up so she could vacuum under me. Well, whatever. Here goes.
In case you've been livin' under a rock, the big news is that we recently lost our beloved Bea. To cancer, of all things. Death has a twisty sense a'humor, I guess. Although it ain't too funny to me, and next time I see that skeletal broad, I'm gonna tell her so. And I mean, 86 ain't even that old. Couldn't we have had a few more years a'laughs together?
I'll tell ya what, though, I can't be too mad at Death, because after all, she's gotta want some fun and laughs herself, and my Bea really could bring it when she wanted to. As can be seen in Exhibit A: Bea Arthur Makes Us Laugh With Variations on One Syllable:
So I can get why one a'my favorite gals wanted some quality girl-time with one a'my other favorite gals. An' I guess I could be worried about the fact that Bea's stuck in the afterlife with Death, who's kinda the epitome of "a jealous mistress," except fer the fact that Bea can totally hold her own against anything. Larger than life (an' maybe Death?), that was my Bea. And chock full a'talent and personality. An' a'course, I'm not the only one who thought so. After all, Broadway's tippin' its hat to her today. And good fer them. I bet she woulda liked that.
An', ya know, there really ain't much more I can say about it all except that, as usual, Bea says it best:
...An' maybe I need a little more a'that grain alcohol after all. Just enough fer a toast:
To Bea,
wherever she may be,
be it a better place than here with me,
'cause that's what she deserves, ya see?
Cheers, Beatrice Arthur. Thanks for all the laughs, and may you rest in peace.
It's been a dark few days fer us here at the Agency, I gotta say. But Sandi finally convinced me to stop drinkin' the grain alcohol (wasn't workin' on me anyway, but it's the thought that counts), get up off the floor and type a few words. She says it'll help me "sort through things," but really I think she just wanted me ta get up so she could vacuum under me. Well, whatever. Here goes.
In case you've been livin' under a rock, the big news is that we recently lost our beloved Bea. To cancer, of all things. Death has a twisty sense a'humor, I guess. Although it ain't too funny to me, and next time I see that skeletal broad, I'm gonna tell her so. And I mean, 86 ain't even that old. Couldn't we have had a few more years a'laughs together?
I'll tell ya what, though, I can't be too mad at Death, because after all, she's gotta want some fun and laughs herself, and my Bea really could bring it when she wanted to. As can be seen in Exhibit A: Bea Arthur Makes Us Laugh With Variations on One Syllable:
Click to viewSo I can get why one a'my favorite gals wanted some quality girl-time with one a'my other favorite gals. An' I guess I could be worried about the fact that Bea's stuck in the afterlife with Death, who's kinda the epitome of "a jealous mistress," except fer the fact that Bea can totally hold her own against anything. Larger than life (an' maybe Death?), that was my Bea. And chock full a'talent and personality. An' a'course, I'm not the only one who thought so. After all, Broadway's tippin' its hat to her today. And good fer them. I bet she woulda liked that.
An', ya know, there really ain't much more I can say about it all except that, as usual, Bea says it best:
...An' maybe I need a little more a'that grain alcohol after all. Just enough fer a toast:
To Bea,
wherever she may be,
be it a better place than here with me,
'cause that's what she deserves, ya see?
Cheers, Beatrice Arthur. Thanks for all the laughs, and may you rest in peace.