Let’s be Ben Affleck’s funeral

I'm jlows struggling one octave.

I'm JLo's totally appropriate booty shaking during Let's Get Loud.

[quote]I’m JLo singing and then three-fourths of the way through ‘Amazing Grace’ transitioning to ‘Let’s Get Loud’.

LOL!

That was funny -- and accurate -- enough to justify this thread, OP.

Pathetic OP. You oughta be ashamed.

I'm Jennifer Garner's pap-walk to the church for the Daily Fail. Starbucks will be present.

I'm the wake held at the plantation house, which has been on the market for 26 years.

I'm f-slur Matt Damon is trying to work into his eulogy.

I’m the copious gladiolus in the flower arrangements. My presence here at all indicates what trash these “folk” are.

I'm the absent Casey.

I’m the white linen on all the guests.

I’m compulsory!

I'm three aging Vegas showgirls over-charging Uma Thurman for primo "Nariño flake".

I'm the recycling centre - struggling to cope with all the empty whiskey bottles that have now been removed from his property.

[quote]Pathetic OP. You oughta be ashamed.

I think you may have wandered on to the wrong website.

I'm the beautiful hairy-shafted Affleck cock that will never be shared with all gay men everywhere but should have been.

R4

R14 I don't want that nasty herpes infested thing

I'm Gwyneth's 3 pages entry in GOOP Newsletter (all framed in black) , explaining with stupid meta neologisms that I was ever the only one for Ben, and making his entre life about ME and how I inevitably broke his heart when we uncoupled_ twice. (Layered with ads for the new GOOP real sized candle "smells like Ben's dick" .)

I'm the casino owner's only slightly thuggish heat casing the Wake for people to shake down for the 10+ million Ben owes.

I buy that candle

I'm Lara Skin Boyle. Turns out Ben and I were occasional drinking buddies.

I'm Amy. I'm so glad I won't be chased no more. #meetoo.

Pathetic stupid thread.

OP = bitter Jennifer Garner

I’m Affleck’s onetime girlfriend, GOOP herself. Namaste.

I am Jennifer Garner's extreme Jackie Kennedy funeral cosplay, veil and all. I made our preteen son wear a short suit.

I'm Brad Pitt, googling to check if I was ever friends with Ben.

I’m the bean dip.

I’m The Minstrel Boy being played on a miked harp as the guests shuffle in.

I’m the Movado watch.

R15, you feeble minded cunt. Nothing loaded.

I'm the deck of cards in his ill fitting blazer in the coffin.

I'm Mr. Damon, bravely holding it together through the ceremony (because I'm not a fag.) Later, I find myself at home, digging though the back of my closet until I find Ben's old Red Sox Jersey, miraculously retaining a lingering stench of booze-sweat. "Ben, I swear..." I choke out as a traitorous tear escapes from my staunchly heterosexual tearducts.

I'm the Academy Awards "in memoriam " segment dedicated to the most unforgettable moments of Ben's acting career. I was originally supposed to be a moving collage of highlights from his best roles, but they've opted instead for a still picture of him from ARMAGEDDON. I don't know why.

R22 = J.Flop

I'm the new man that the briefly grieving widow brings to the service, because she cannot possibly be alone for even a few days and not also generating press from relationship speculation. The paparazzi are waiting outside like vultures, anyway, so it just makes sense not to wait.

Somewhat off-topic but when I was googling for some witty inspiration for this thread (I failed) I read this re: Affleck commenting on his character in The Tender Bar:

[Quote] "It was oddly close to playing my own father. He was very much like Uncle Charlie," added Affleck. "My father was a bartender. And growing up, I would meet him at the bar. My dad didn't go to college, but he was well-read, and his ambition was to be a writer, although he never found professional success. He was hindered by his alcoholism."

This explains a lot and makes me feel bad for him as alcoholism can be inherited. I wish him all the best.

R35 His family history is pretty sad, and revealing. In addition to his alcoholic father, his paternal grandmother and one of his uncles committed suicide, and an aunt was a heroin addict. He clearly has some struggles, but I hope he is able to find some peace and stability (although I'm highly skeptical his new marriage could provide that.)

We're the esteemed Hollywood producers here by invitation. We understand the widow has planned an ending we should see.

[quote] I was googling for some witty inspiration for this thread

Wow, I'm impressed by your dedication. Thanks for your service

R36 Ben is the epitomy of TRASH

I'm Jennifer Garner, annoyed that I wasn't invited to participate in the funeral plans.

R40 I'm the widow Affleck telling you "sorry, bitch, there was never a prenup, you can stay on the property, as my cleaing lady"

I'm the episcopal deacon speaking to the family before the service. I walk in and address the tasteful, quiet, oak paneled private room, "Jennifer?"

Two garish women rise. Oh, bother!

I'm the nipples definitely visible through the Widow Affleck's skintight sparkly black mourning ensemble.

I’m the swag bags.

Bravo OP!

We’ve come to church to pay our respects to La Viuda Affleck, but mainly to thank God because now that there will never be a sequel to Gigli.

I am all the liquor bottles every mourner has placed inside the casket . It has made the casket so heavy it broke the stand and ben comes timbling out on the floor amazingly clutching a small bottle of cheap vodka..

OP, you are the best! PMSL

Ben’s mother is inconsolable and has been heard murmuring between sobs, “who the fuck will pull me out of the water the next time I fall off a dock?”

I'm the pro-funeral repast provided by Dunkin' Donuts.

I'm the conflagration that breaks out when Ben's pickled body is unwisely cremated. I destroy five city blocks.

[quote] I'm the pro-funeral repast provided by Dunkin' Donuts.

Catering by Jack in the Box!

Overheard at the service, “of course she wore white. She wore white to her four weddings, didn’t she?”

Bad Juju thread.

Comments made of comedy gold!! One of the funniest, ever!!

I’m the black mantilla

I’m Brad Pitt Pantocrator, Pew 1

I'm the "supplier" moaning with grief "he was my best customer" and next pew strippers all crying, "he was so nice, I mean he was drunk most of the time and couldn't get it up, oops, he's dead, oh my, he never paid me, that rotten..oops, am I supposed to cry now.

We’re the moirologists and mutes, smoking behind a row of parked cars.

[quote] I’m Brad Pitt Pantocrator, Pew 1

Pittgod.

I’m Body of an American by the Pogues played on repeat during the get together after the service.

I’m the flag at half mast.

R62, I'm the Patriots flag at half mast.

I’m the many bro breakdowns at the pulpit.

I’m them cha-cha heels.

I’m the black lace gloves.

I’m the dolor.

I'm the lone match flicked into the casket that mourners filled with airplane bottles of booze, while a flat screen TV is playing JLo's Super Bowl performance with Shakira. The coffin explodes and everyone within a ten mile radius is incinerated. The Data Lounge News refers to it as the biggest greasefire ever.

I’m the selection of downbeat torch songs from Nana Mouskouri’s Spanish album , “Nuestras Canciones” played on repeat at the get together after the service.

I’m the black oversized designer sunglasses, worn in the church

I’m the Virgen’s voicemail box, which is full.

I'm JLo wondering if I look sorrowful, will it ruin my makeup, and looking at Matt wondering if he would be interested.

We’re the blindingly shiny ties.

I hate laughing at OP’s description, but I couldn’t help it. I could totally see it too.

I’m Danny Boy, played on repeat at the get together after the service.

I'm JLo...cursing "I never look good wearing black, and my breasts are covered, how can I make an impression looking like this."

We’re the bagpipes.

I'm one of the special selected guest. (mourner) .."champagne at a funeral must be leftover from the wedding."

I am the combined JLo - Affleck family. All of us are wondering what we did to have to come to this shitshow.

Actually, we thought that about the wedding too.

Who?

I’m the step and repeat background as you walk in to the reception.

I’m the crafted specialty cocktail menu.

I’m the tray of pigs-in-blanket (using crescent rolls!) brought by a well-meaning older relation.

I’m the photo slideshow.

I’m JLo, now engaged to pall-bearer #2.

We’re the many different evening fabrics wrapping the stilettos of the guests. We’re audaciously inappropriate, but no one attending knows that so fuck it.

I’m the black netting on all the hatz.

I am the famous gay porn star who confesses he was Ben’s regular escort and Ben liked to take it in the a$$.

What color diamond says “dead husband”?

I’m the indigenous land acknowledgement by the woke priest. I am met with scowls from the less chic attendees.

I'm the request that in lieu of flowers money should be given to alcoholics anonymous to help prevent this tragedy from occurring again.

I’m the keening!

I’m Stop All the Clocks - from 4 Weddings, y’all! The first time I’m read, 5 other guests start panicking while doing a sweaty Google search on their phone.

We’re the tacky wreaths on stands. We have to be displayed SOMEWHERE, because we came from family or hometown bigshots.

I’m “Waltzing Matilda” sung a capella spontaneously during the reception by a cadre of brehs.

I’m the liquor industry losing 20% of their stock value.

I’m the Latin Rite. I’m technically outlawed by the pope, but JLo gave special dispensation so the older relations would feel comfortable.

I’m the multicolored uplighting.

We’re trees in wooden boxes, brought inside the reception so everything would be green, green, green, but classy-type.

I’m the master classical guitarist, flown over first class from Spain.

I'm the secret GF. I'm wearing B's favorite dress - a leopard print with a décolleté to my belly button. I throw myself wailing into his open coffin.

I’m La Cucaracha.

I’m pantyhose. I’m conspicuously absent.

I’m the backup dancers.

We’re the shrugs, grabbed at the last minute from the back of closets. We’re begrudgingly worn sort of off-shoulder in the church.

I'm Taco Flavored Kisses.

I’m the “spot of color!” all the men have, which makes them feel so unique.

I look so gay.

We’re the riderless horses, fags!

Girl, I can’t believe he’s gone!

We’re the blindingly shiny pocket squares, folded elaborately and fanned out with the edges showing.

I’m the order of services program for this marathon. I’m unexpectedly weighty.

The reason most of us are crying is we had to sit through repeated cycles of "Gigli" over and over and over...

I’m the fat Spanish and Irish asses.

We are the half-mast flags on all bars within a 50 mile radius of the Affleck house.

We’re the oddly clunky black shoes worn by non-Hollywood male family members.

We go perfectly with all the sagging cuffs of the untailored blend dress pants.

I’m the fashion hats left on by most of the men in the church.

I’m JLo begging the Catholic priest to let the next one be a church wedding, since this one died and there was no divorce.

R85 post made me laugh at loud for real

We’re the unpaid tabs all over town.

We’re the straining seams on all those skintight skirts.

I’m the extended spoken word performance given during the service.

Goodbye Boston Ben

Though I never knew you at all

You had the grace not to spill your Dunkin’

Even when you were going through withdrawal

And it seemed to me

You lived your life like a scandal in the wind

Your career burned out long before

Your Marlboro Lights ever did

I'm the new cologne B.Low by J.Lo available at Macy's for $79.00.

I’m in locum refrigerii, lucis et pacis, sponsored by Hyundai.

Im the genuflecting.

I’m “Camptown Ladies” sung in a minor key at a dirge-like, dignified pace.

R62 and I'm the trousers at half-mast! There's a good girl Jennifer.

I’m la Madre de Dios, and I have never heard of any of these people.

I’m Jlo’s bare midriff at the reception.

I’m the hundreds of votives, lovingly sold at cost by Goop.

We're the undertakers, scandalised at the deceased's last request- to be laid out face down in his coffin.

We have no idea what the significance of this tacky fucking tattoo represents. Is it, like, one of his films? Or his kid's name?

I’m Ben’s fancy handbag, tucked near his feet.

We’re the black turkey feathers.

We’re the Lil’ Smokies

I’m the trannies LARPing as various iterations of Jackie O.

I’m silent Bob’s black gauchos.

I’m thematic!

I’m Ludacris’s moving performance of “Jesus on the Mainline.”

I’m the enchilada casserole.

I'm the non-binary teen pallbearers.

I’m the gourmet street taco bar.

We’re the pitchers of sangria at the reception.

I’m the ink on the wedding photos being passed around. I’m barely dry.

I’m the weepy karaoke that soon turns rowdy.

I’m the president of Harvard. I’m inexplicably in attendance.

I’m the guest book. I contain the escalating messages and doodles of people who never graduated high school trying to outwit each other.

I’m the homemade beer cheese.

I'm Pete Buttigieg. I'll show up at the opening of an envelope.

I'm Ryan Seacrest. I was hired to host the red carpet coverage. Jennifer wanted Mario Lopez, but the network felt I could better lend an air of dignity to the proceedings.

Right now I'm trying to think of the most tactful way to cut off Joey Lauren Adams' rambling about the fragility of life so I can grab Minnie Driver before she enters the church.

I’m Charlize dragging her black baby in the church, hoping R148 doesn’t ask me about Reindeer Games.

I'm the ashtray attendant because EVERYONE from AA showed up.

I'm the joint savings account at Cambridge Savings Bank opened 35 years ago by Ben and Matt. Now only Matt knows that it contains over a million dollars because the two had a secret pact to contribute every year after Good Will Hunting and NEVER withdraw. The pact was sealed by two cumloads into Ben's teenboy jockstrap, which is secured in an acid free museum quality package in a safe-deposit box in the same institution.

I'm the moody, but tasteful shot in Town and Country of Jennifer the Second in a black couture gown, slumped elegantly on a swing, hand outstretched to an adjacent empty swing.

I'm the state of the art, undetectable electronics that allow Jennifer to sing "accapella" Love of my Life at the funeral. Only 20% of the mourners realize that it's about self love, not Ben.

I’m JLo closing the service with ‘The Greatest Love of All’

⛪️🎶

We've no less days to sing God's praise

Than when we first begun…..

Hey! Hey! Heyyyyyyyyy!!!!

Let's get loud, let's get loud

Turn the music up, let's do it

C'mon, people, let's get loud, let's get loud

Turn the music up to hear that sound

Let's get loud, let's get loud

Ain't nobody gotta tell ya what you gotta do

No fewer.

Why jinx one of the greatest actors of a generation?

I’m the dance-out down the aisle and out the church!

I’m the maracas.

Why do many of the comments here have a hint of racism. Are you old queens jealous?

MARIA!

Oh, I'm "Somewhere" from West Side Story, the last stanza of which is whispered through tears...

I'm one of the numerous duennas in black mantillas vigorously fanning the widow with our big black lace fans after she screams then faints after seeing her Ben in the coffin.

Mrs. Affleck would now like to say a few words. Please rise as she makes her way to the podium.

Someone get R160 a churro, her blood sugar is low

R165, How about an oven and some grease.

I'm the funeral director attempting to answer JLo's many questions as to whom is responsible for paying the costs of this funeral, attempting to have the Affleck family foot the bill.

I’m JLo lip syncing to a dead mic.

I’m Ashanti behind the curtain singing for her.

[quote] beautiful hairy-shafted Affleck cock that will never be shared with all gay men everywhere but should have been.

Ben's cock was no stranger to the gays

Ben gay?

I'm JLo's acapella tribute to Ben's manhood.

"Killing me softly with his schlong".

I am the cash bar.

I'm the lawyer reading Ben's Last Will & Testimony leaving all my earthly belongings, monetary and my estate to my one true love, Matt.

Since this is solemn occasion, Donatella has agreed to recreate my jungle print dress in black.

I'm Matt, forgetting to whisper in Ben's ear that fortune favors the brave.

Where a testament is, there must also of necessity be the death of the testator…

I'm the vermin enjoying the boozy taste of his flesh.

I'm Jennifer Garner pouring a bottle of Jack Daniels into the open grave while saying "this is the only thing you ever loved."

I’m Shia, fiddling with his rosary 📿.

I'm Dr. Jill Biden offering her condolences and tacos

I’m the Ana De Armas cardboard cutout on the funeral home front lawn

...with a 'Ben Affleck was here' sign on her nethers, R182.

R88 if I say I’m one of them, not “the” regular one, would you believe me?

I'm the armed sheriff's deputy accompanying a manacled Ezra Miller, who's here to pay their respects.

W&W, r185

So she definitely would do this. The ego is out of control.

Poor Ben.

Some of these posts have suspicious WW numbers. Too many that like to give themselves a boost.

I'm Jen Garner's flashmob Thriller dance. I'll never stop never stopping.

R189 is on the case!

I’m Henry Cavill, and I saw this tragic end a mile away, especially on that day of our soul crushing press junket for Superman vs Batman. I knew even then this world was never meant for someone as beautiful as Ben.

Everyone WW R191 for R189

R189 = humorless asswipe

Let’s get loud!

He would have like it that way.

I'm me, surprised JLo Affleck went with Let's Get Loud and not Waiting for Tonight.

BUMP