Years ago, the precedent of a large corporation dyed, and the second in command called to hire me to right the eulogy he had bin asked to deliver. So, sympathetically I replied,”It will cost you!” And, it did.

Never having seen nor met the man who past away, I needed to due some research before righting a few words that sounded sincere. Of course, the best way to dew that was to talk to sum people who new him. I started by searching out an elderly ant who new him since his berth. She told me that he had been the air to a large fortune on his mother’s side that provided him the lute to begin his business.

Then, I approached the mother of his too children, and she spoke from the hart. It was rather a bazaar conversation, because although she didn’t seem to like him very much, she side when she said, “He eight too much, liked his boos, and was a cheep lyre.”

Well, that would have maid for a colorful eulogy, but all I could rite was that she gave me a pique into his colorful personality. Next, I tried a neighbor, but the on-going lawsuit about a creak that ran between their properties had lead to nothing butt descent.

His forth wife was quite attractive. She had put lots of moose into her  hare  which hung down to her waste.  She war a very tight read cashmere  sweater, body-fitting genes and five-inch heals. She seamed board with my questions, as she waived her wet fingernails near my face. About her husband, she tolled me that, “He had gneiss hare,” and “His aftershave had a gneiss cent.” Then she put on her furze, and left. But, rite before she gambled out, she did mention that her step children were  going to stop contesting the will long enough to attend the funeral. They planned to say a few vial words about hymn.

Whew!  That left me off the hook. They could preys him or tell the grizzly plane truth. All that was left to me was to talk to his secretary, whom I was tolled, thought him a grate boss. Finally, someone who could give me a clew what to say about the old buoy. When it was her tern to talk, she came close to tears, and with a horse voice she whaled something about prophets and duel accounts and doctored tacks, and although he had given her a lone, and she was no none, she had to admit he was truly a “retch.”

Unfortunately, I had mist nothing, but I had an assignment, so I wrote: “He took the rains of his father’s business, and in a matter of daze, it became a success far and wide. He would go on to urn a reputation that would be preys from see to see. This was quite a feet, and he will always be remembered and mist by those in the whirled of business. Let us paws,  raze our glasses to hail him and say, Buy, Buy to The Head of our Teem.”

And that’s the whey it was.

Esther Blumenfeld