In 500... (or less)

Heckler

Corralling the crowd seemed impossible. They numbered in the thousands.

"If I could get everyone to listen," Rev. Norment said, clearing his throat to talk as loudly as possible. "We'd like to get start.."

"Damn it, shut up!" The reverend scanned the crowd to see who yelled the profanity.

"No need to be profane," he said. "If I could just get everyone's attention."

A few people heard the preacher and started to spread the word to pipe down.

"You sons-of-bitches!" Whoever this guy was, he didn't seem to care about cursing in mixed company.

The comment elicited a few chuckles from the assembled people, a moment of levity among an otherwise somber event.

"As you all know," Rev. Norment started, "we've gathered to celebrate the life of our dear friend, General..."

"What an asshole!" the heckler interrupted. It echoed over the crowd, who had finally grown quiet enough to hear the funeral begin. "Nothing but a dirty, no good..."

"Now see here, mister," the reverend sternly shot back. "Please watch your language. There are ladies present."

"Go to hell," came the response. "What an asshole!"

The reverend felt the steam of anger well up from under his frock. He wanted to spout out a few choice words for the heckler. He knew the departed had made many enemies during the course of his life, but was shocked one would come to the funeral and show such a lack of respect.

"Please," the reverend finally managed to choke out. "We shall not speak ill of the dead."

"Sonnuvabitch!"

By now, the crowd was split between those who found the scene amusing and others who were uneasily searching for the offender.

The preacher paused, waiting for more outbursts, but heard none. Satisfied, he continued on.

"We come to honor this great man, this servant of his country, this..." The gravely voice of the heckler began to shout.

The stream of profanity continued on, unabated, for several seconds. So vile were the words that some of the women found themselves faint. Young boys blushed. A few of the old men nodded as they acknowledged the tirade was one worthy of the general himself.

"Poll!" shouted one of the crowd. "It's Poll! He's the one saying it."

The crowd turned to look as Poll continued with an unabashed and undignified monologue of cursing.

Rev. Norment sighed as he looked at Poll.

"For the love of Pete," he muttered as he stared him down. "Can someone please remove General Jackson's pet bird from the grounds?"

There was a hearty laugh as everyone came to realize that Poll, Andrew Jackson's gray African parrot, was the source of the profanity.