Need a good laugh! Georgia man’s obituary: ‘He attracted more women than a shoe sale at Macy’s’
Dylan Stableford, Yahoo! News
A Georgia man who died last week might not have been a living legend. But his obituary is already legendary.
“Men wanted to be him and women wanted to be with him,” William “Freddie” McCullough’s obituary, published Saturday in the Savannah Morning News, reads. “Freddie loved deep fried Southern food smothered in Cane Syrup, fishing at Santee Cooper Lake, Little Debbie Cakes, Two and a Half Men, beautiful women, Reeses Cups [sic] and Jim Beam. Not necessarily in that order.”
The 61-year-old Bloomingdale, Ga., father of six and grandfather of seven “hated vegetables and hypocrites” and was “a master craftsman who single-handedly built his beautiful house from the ground up.”
McCullough “was also great at growing fruit trees, grilling chicken and ribs, popping wheelies on his Harley at 50 mph, making everyone feel appreciated and hitting Coke bottles at thirty yards with his 45.”
He loved to tell stories, “and you could be sure 50% of every story was true. You just never knew which 50%.”
“Freddie adored the ladies,” the death notice, written by his son, Mark McCullough, continues. “And they adored him. There isn’t enough space here to list all of the women from Freddie’s past. There isn’t enough space in the Bloomingdale phone book. … He attracted more women than a shoe sale at Macy’s.”
According to his obituary, McCullough “was killed when he rushed into a burning orphanage to save a group of adorable children. Or maybe not. We all know how he liked to tell stories.”
Many readers who signed the online guestbook said they didn’t know McCullough but would’ve liked to.
“Freddie, I did not know you, but wow,” one wrote. “I’ll bet that Jim Beam is now served in heaven. Ladies in heaven … he has arrived … enjoy!”
One reader, identified as “Trooper Andrews” of Knoxville, said he did know McCullough:
I had the pleasure of arresting Mr. McCollough in Tennessee when he and his girlfriend were in Knoxville. They both had too much to drink and were arguing over Marlboro points when they were in town looking for the hotel where Hank Williams Sr. died. He asked me if I would keep his goat for him while he was in jail. I did. Willy and Freda both left town on bond and never came back. He would call a couple of times a year to check on his goat. The goat died five years later, but Willy still called to say hello at Christmas. I still have his Zippo lighter he left in the back seat of my patrol car.