RIP Robert Adolph Boehm
- Thread starter angmo
- Start date
If it wasn’t for some stupid mother f***ing thing he would still be with us today. God speed Robert
None. Who was going to fu*k with a 6 foot Great Dane?
And nobody ever heard of this guy on here while he was alive!
My tombstone will have
"THIS FU*KING BEER LINE IS KILLING ME"
No disrespect and RIP....but Bobby we didn't know ye!
And as an aside White, did you hit the sauce early today??
No you all missed the joke. Nothing serious from an obituary thread about a nobody from me. Your saying exactly what I'm saying. Does that make you hitting the sauce early by your definition??
You said this: "Who was going to fu*k with a 6 foot Great Dane?
And nobody ever heard of this guy on here while he was alive!
My tombstone will have
"THIS FU*KING BEER LINE IS KILLING ME"
I said this: "Bobby we didn't know ye"
We didn't say the exact same things.
Read my first post.You said this: "Who was going to fu*k with a 6 foot Great Dane?
And nobody ever heard of this guy on here while he was alive!
My tombstone will have
"THIS FU*KING BEER LINE IS KILLING ME"
I said this: "Bobby we didn't know ye"
We didn't say the exact same things.
Is this for real? Who in his family did Robert piss off?
Robert Adolph Boehm, in accordance with his lifelong dedication to his own personal brand of decorum, muttered his last unintelligible and likely unnecessary curse on October 6, 2024, shortly before tripping backward over "some stupid mother****ing thing" and hitting his head on the floor.
Robert was born in Winters, TX, to the late Walter Boehm and Betty Smith on May 6, 1950, after which God immediately and thankfully broke the mold and attempted to cover up the evidence. Raised Catholic, Robert managed to get his wife Dianne pregnant (three times) fast enough to just barely miss getting drafted into the Vietnam War by fathering Michelle, John, and Charlotte between 1967 and 1972. Much later, with Robert possibly concerned about the brewing conflict in Grenada, Charles was born in 1983.
This lack of military service was probably for the best, as when taking up shooting as a hobby in his later years, he managed to blow not one, but two holes in the dash of his own car on two separate occasions, which unfortunately did not even startle, let alone surprise, his dear wife Dianne, who was much accustomed to such happenings in his presence and may have actually been safer in the jungles of Vietnam the entire time.
While the world was in conflict elsewhere, Robert made due by learning to roof, maintain traffic signs with the City of Amarillo, and eventually becoming a semi-professional truck driver—not to be confused with a professional semi-truck driver.
With peace on the horizon, Robert's attention somewhat counterintuitively drifted to weapons of war, spanning the historical and geographical spectrum from the atlatl of 19,000 BC France, to the sjambok of 1830s Africa, to the Mosin-Nagant M1891 of WWII-era Soviet Union. So many examples of these mainstream hobbyist items litter his small Clarendon, Texas, apartment that one of them may very well have been the item referenced in his aforementioned eloquent final epitaph.
A man of many interests, Robert was not to be entranced by historical weapons alone, but also had a penchant for fashion, frequently seen about town wearing the latest trend in homemade leather moccasins, a wide collection of unconventional hats, and boldly mismatched shirts and pants.
Robert also kept a wide selection of harmonicas on hand—not to play personally, but to prompt his beloved dogs to howl continuously at odd hours of the night to entertain his many neighbors, and occasionally to give to his many, many, many grandchildren and great-grandchildren to play loudly during long road trips with their parents.
Earlier this year, in February, God finally showed mercy upon Dianne, getting her the hell out of there for some well-earned peace and quiet. Without Dianne to gleefully entertain, Robert shifted his creative focus to the entertainment of you, the fine townspeople of Clarendon, Texas. Over the last eight months, if you have not met Robert or seen his road show yet, you probably would have soon.
We have all done our best to enjoy/weather Robert's antics up to this point, but he is God's problem now.
Robert's farewell tour will be held Monday, October 14th, at 10 a.m. at Memorial Park Funeral Home, 6969 E Interstate 40 Hwy, Amarillo, TX 79118. The family encourages you to dust off whatever outdated or inappropriate combination of clothing you have available to attend. A tip jar will be available in the front; flowers are also acceptable.
Robert Adolph Boehm, in accordance with his lifelong dedication to his own personal brand of decorum, muttered his last unintelligible and likely unnecessary curse on October 6, 2024, shortly before tripping backward over "some stupid mother****ing thing" and hitting his head on the floor.
Robert was born in Winters, TX, to the late Walter Boehm and Betty Smith on May 6, 1950, after which God immediately and thankfully broke the mold and attempted to cover up the evidence. Raised Catholic, Robert managed to get his wife Dianne pregnant (three times) fast enough to just barely miss getting drafted into the Vietnam War by fathering Michelle, John, and Charlotte between 1967 and 1972. Much later, with Robert possibly concerned about the brewing conflict in Grenada, Charles was born in 1983.
This lack of military service was probably for the best, as when taking up shooting as a hobby in his later years, he managed to blow not one, but two holes in the dash of his own car on two separate occasions, which unfortunately did not even startle, let alone surprise, his dear wife Dianne, who was much accustomed to such happenings in his presence and may have actually been safer in the jungles of Vietnam the entire time.
While the world was in conflict elsewhere, Robert made due by learning to roof, maintain traffic signs with the City of Amarillo, and eventually becoming a semi-professional truck driver—not to be confused with a professional semi-truck driver.
With peace on the horizon, Robert's attention somewhat counterintuitively drifted to weapons of war, spanning the historical and geographical spectrum from the atlatl of 19,000 BC France, to the sjambok of 1830s Africa, to the Mosin-Nagant M1891 of WWII-era Soviet Union. So many examples of these mainstream hobbyist items litter his small Clarendon, Texas, apartment that one of them may very well have been the item referenced in his aforementioned eloquent final epitaph.
A man of many interests, Robert was not to be entranced by historical weapons alone, but also had a penchant for fashion, frequently seen about town wearing the latest trend in homemade leather moccasins, a wide collection of unconventional hats, and boldly mismatched shirts and pants.
Robert also kept a wide selection of harmonicas on hand—not to play personally, but to prompt his beloved dogs to howl continuously at odd hours of the night to entertain his many neighbors, and occasionally to give to his many, many, many grandchildren and great-grandchildren to play loudly during long road trips with their parents.
Earlier this year, in February, God finally showed mercy upon Dianne, getting her the hell out of there for some well-earned peace and quiet. Without Dianne to gleefully entertain, Robert shifted his creative focus to the entertainment of you, the fine townspeople of Clarendon, Texas. Over the last eight months, if you have not met Robert or seen his road show yet, you probably would have soon.
We have all done our best to enjoy/weather Robert's antics up to this point, but he is God's problem now.
Robert's farewell tour will be held Monday, October 14th, at 10 a.m. at Memorial Park Funeral Home, 6969 E Interstate 40 Hwy, Amarillo, TX 79118. The family encourages you to dust off whatever outdated or inappropriate combination of clothing you have available to attend. A tip jar will be available in the front; flowers are also acceptable.
Apparently his son wrote it. It was a humorous attempt to highlight his dad's "eccentricities":
Boehm Obit Story
Story was paywalled.
I love humor in almost all situations, but not sure I agree with that one. Opinions vary.
I recently wrote my mother's obituary, and I ensured it was a loving and fitting tribute to the wonderful mother and person she was. We received many compliments on how well-written it was.
Sorry about that - I was able to access it fully and I don't have a subscription, so I thought it would be okay to share. If you are able to read the full story at some point, I think you would feel differently. I had the first impression that you did, but changed my mind after reading the story.
Got it and here's a link to a "better" (hate WaPo) source.
Telling the post how his dad had been left beside himself after finding himself without his wife of so many years, he added: 'I'd have to say if I want anything to come from all of this, it's for people everywhere to support the mental health of people in little rural towns.
'They go there to retire, then when they're old, their kids scatter and they end up alone. A lot of people slip through the cracks.'
He concluded: 'We need to look after them.'
The tumbleweed figured it out faster then you did.Oh, I see now. That was really funny.
That obit is hilarious. Love it.
The son was kinda sorta acting as a "speaker for the dead" (a cool concept, and book title, from the one of many subsequent novels following "Ender's Game" by Orson Scott Card). I wonder if the kid read those books and did that intentionally, or if he just has an irreverent sense of humor. Possibly both.
I very much hope one of my kids does something similar when I die, making great fun of me with references to my many laughably moronic moments. But maybe also hopefully touching humorously on some of my better deeds. Hm... I suppose I better get to work on some of those good deed things so that's there's actually something to mention.
The son was kinda sorta acting as a "speaker for the dead" (a cool concept, and book title, from the one of many subsequent novels following "Ender's Game" by Orson Scott Card). I wonder if the kid read those books and did that intentionally, or if he just has an irreverent sense of humor. Possibly both.
I very much hope one of my kids does something similar when I die, making great fun of me with references to my many laughably moronic moments. But maybe also hopefully touching humorously on some of my better deeds. Hm... I suppose I better get to work on some of those good deed things so that's there's actually something to mention.
That was the direct quote from the Post story and that, among other quotes, changed my initial impression of the obit. It seems that the departed could be difficult at times, but people recognized the good in him and cared for him.
Yeah - blow, hookers and sheep ain’t going to cut it. There’s still time!
Good one. Had I decided to actually read about someone who I never heard of nor cared to read about, I might of had a chance at it.
No reason to make sh*t up. I'll keep it in mind to not use snarky humor with you. Over and out as I've wasted enough time with you on this.
But, I mean, I am super gentle and loving with the sheep, and I tip the blow dealer and hookers extravagantly. That should count for something, no? I'll have to run it past my kids, see what they think.Yeah - blow, hookers and sheep ain’t going to cut it. There’s still time!
I'm glad you figured it out. You getting your panties in a bunch over a nothing of a thread. There was nothing important in any comment on the thread to start crap on. You wasted your own time making a mountain out a ant hill, it was way less than a mole hill.
I too gave the thread a pass initially. But when it continued to get posts, I took a closer look. Glad I did.
Wait a sec... are you telling me it's bad if, uh... someone let's his panties bunch up? I'm, uh, asking for a friend.
Works for me, but if I recall correctly, you raised a son who rescued that big *** dog you care for. I’m sure folks will give you a pass on any other stuff!
Speaking of which, I need to take that big boy out for a walk. My kid started him on some flea and tick stuff, I think "NexGuard". And now, two days later, the poor dog cannot summon a non-liquid poop to save his life. I walk him quickly to some nearby woods to go because there's no cleaning this up - just a brown spray basically.
Anybody have a good tip for binding up a big dog w/digestive issues?
Hm. That was a pretty ****** post I just made. Sorry 'bout that, folks.
Boiled chicken and rice to settle their stomach. But because he had an acute reaction to the flea and tick stuff I think it would be good to go to the vet for a precautionary visit.
I thought it was funny. Sounds like that old curmudgeon and my dad would have gotten along great.
I told my kid to do that. But so far, he’s resisting saying he doesn’t want to be one of those people who run to the vet every time the dog sneezes. I’d beat my kid to get him to listen, or beat the dog to stop him from soupy-pooping. But both could probably take me in a one on one fight and if they work together, my odds of victory would be poor.