There are three graves out in Rosehill Cemetery. Bring your sponge along while we give them the once-over. Over the first grave is a $500.00 tombstone donated by Charlie Blake and it says on the tombstone:
“Here lies Herman Pupick, glass eye and all. He was a mush head and a wet smack. When he died, his many admirers presented him with a drainpipe for a coffin. Those who knew him best called him Polecat Herman.
“During his unfortunate life, this piece of rat bait which lies six feet below was a censor and a reformer. He was highly respected by old maids suffering from dementia menopause.
“It was Herman Pupick’s ambition to go to heaven, but the fumigators threatened to strike, so St. Peter wouldn’t let him in.
“How this smut hound happened to die is interesting. He was stabbed by his wife during a quarrel. Mrs. Pupick accused him of adultery. Herman broke down and confessed he had committed adultery twenty-nine times and was tired of it. Those were his last words.
“Like all censors and reformers, Herman had a foul mind and a bad breath. His soul was a spittoon and everything that fell into it got dirty. After his death a delegation of students arrived at the undertaking rooms to permit an autopsy. But there was no outhouse available.
“The biography of this dead censor can be written in a few words. Everything he saw reminded him how dirty he was. Instead of cleaning himself up, he attacked the world with a cake of Sapolio. He tried for thirty-seven years to establish an alibi for his weak glands by claiming that God admired and rewarded impotent morons.
“There is no use feeling sorry for him. He was one of Nature’s blunders. His mind was still in its foetal stage. If God wants him, He can have him. And take the drain pipe, too. There are no competing claims.
“Rest in peace, Herman Pupick. The bereaved world will try to struggle on a little while longer without your uplifting presence.”