We have gathered here today not only to mourn the loss of a man – nay, a titan – but to celebrate his life. A life cut tragically from us at the tender age of 51. A life that provided joy to thousands, a life of dipsticks and gravy, a life of hot buttered buns and gyrating toddlers.
He taught us all about Hispanic cheese, and that protesting women should be tazed, handcuffed, and dragged out. He relieved the workaday tedium of legions, entertaining lib and con alike with homespun wisdom, universal truth, and a bizarrely irresistible craving for a piece of fast food chicken. But he was more than the Jerry Clower of Brooklyn. He highlighted grave injustices – assaults on the very God-given rights of an American to hang a Linus poster, bathe in a feed trough, or sell only matrimonial baked goods of the heterosexual variety.
His departure must not only be a time for mourning or remembrance, however. I charge that all who hear these presents also consider it a call to action. Remember that the mighty Sweet T did not back down in the face of adversity, nor should we. He stood foursquare with flapping chins, sausage-like fingers, and advanced atherosclerosis against all that opposed him. And so must we. We must stand brave and covered in biscuit crumbs just as he did against his assassin. Could he be taken down by some lame pagan god like Moloch?
Could he be taken down by libs?
By a young whippersnapper named Caleb?
We must band together and bring the REAL culprit to justice: