B-Dubya...Down for the Count

My boy Beowulf just died. I'm thisclose to tears. Thisclose.

Jesus, Mary and Joseph. You've got to man up, Raymond. I mean, who cries at Beowulf? He lead a violent life; died a glorious death. They launched his funeral pyre on a high cliff above the ocean. Ten days later, they covered the thing with earth, burying within a bunch of stuff the likes of which you just don't see in Park Slope. For years to come his people will refer to the man-made hill as Beowulf's Barrow. How bad can that be? I mean, given the context and all.

I also always cry at the end of "Meet Joe Black."

Well really, who doesn't?

I hear you.

Would you feel better if I called you Seamus?

A little, I guess.