Tales From The Crypt & The Atonal Nasal Groaners: A Kid Story

The Atonal Nasal Groaners is dedicated to the loving memory of Terry R. Phillips (1951-2014)... a good man, a great friend and a really bad singer!

The Kid never cared a lot for rich folks, they seem to think the world owes them something just because they have a lot of money. Maybe it comes from growing up poor, I don't know... however you slice it, the rich are for the most part a bunch of self-entitled douchebags. I'll show you what I mean...

The Kid is all grown up and managing cemeteries. Some rich guy's kid got trashed and wrapped his car around a tree, or something like that. The family, one of the scions of Ft. Smith society, had run out of spaces in the family plot so I had to meet the old man- he was supposed to pay the opening/closing charge and pick a space. He decides to buy a new family plot consisting of 12 spaces, selects them and walks out without giving me a dime! So, I call Butch Edwards at the funeral home and he tells me, "Don't worry about, that's Steve Creekmore, the family's loaded and he's good for it."

A week goes by, we've buried Jr. and I still haven't got any money. I call Butch ( who's a rich guy himself, but one of the good ones). Butch informs me that the family has gone back to the Riviera. He says that they're not like the rest of us and he probably just forgot... after all, the Creekmore's are one of the city's more prominent families. So I tell Butch, "I'm from Boston and we never heard of the Creekmore's and as far as I was concerned he was just another fuckin deadbeat that doesn't pay his bills...and... if I didn't have my money by Tuesday when I turn in payroll, the family could come pick up Douchebag Jr. and take him home!

"Take it easy, take it easy," says Butch. "I'll take care of it and put it on their bill. How much is it?"

"About $12,000," I tell him. "They got 12 spaces plus opening/closing."

"Alright," Butch says, "come down to the office and I'll have Carol cut a check."

"Thanks Buddy," I said.

"Would you really dig the kid up?" he asks me.

"You'll never know."

So that's one reason the Kid doesn't like rich people. They all seem to be the same... assholes that think the world owes them something... which leads to the Atonal Nasal Groaners. (How's that for a segue?)

Terry worked for me at Forest Park. He was more than an employes, he was a friend... a real friend. He also never, in the 10 or so years I knew him, took a sober breath. It was a Saturday and Terry used to come in and volunteer to work the services for free (I always shot him a few OT hours). One Sat. we were in the shop waiting on a service to end and Terry started singing along with the radio. "If you don't quit that right now, you're fired," I told him. My Assistant Manager/backhoe guy, Paul remarked "Geez, he sings almost as bad as me."

"I got you both beat," and told them the story of the stewardess and the guitar. Little did we know it at the time, but The Atonal Nasal Groaners were born. A week or so before Christmas, the idea hit me. Paul and I were in the office and I told him it would really piss off the rich fucks if him, me and Terry went to Fianna Hills caroling. He almost choked on his Mountain Dew. I called Terry and it was a done deal... the three of us would go out offending the rich (Fianna Hills is an enclave of wealthy douchebags in Ft. Smith).

A few days before Christmas, we struck! The very first house we came to and sung caused the inhabitants to open the door. A large burley man shouted to us, "What are you doing?"

"Singing Christmas carols," I yelled back.

"Well, stop it!" he said. Now I have to tell ya, we had a rendition of "Oh Christmas Tree" that warranted the throwing of rotting vegetation. Apparently this guy just didn't have an ear for music. We tried a few more houses with similar results... instead of applause, our singing usually brought threats to call the police. When we thought we had offended enough rich jerks, we left feeling pretty good about ourselves.