On first read I thought My Husband Died And Now His Ghost Wants Anal (from McSweeneys, about five years ago) was pretty funny. And it is:

My husband Jake passed away recently. As luck would have it, just days after he died he came back as a ghost. I was never a superstitious person, but when Jake walked through the refrigerator and honked my breast, I knew it was really him. Weird misconception about ghosts: they can walk through stuff, but they also have the ability to grope.

Of course the ghost has an agenda:

Full disclosure, a tiny, tiny part of why Jake became a ghost has to do with a certain unfinished aspect of our relationship. Despite all we’ve gone through, there is one territory unexplored, one frontier unpenetrated, the one thing he couldn’t rest without: my anus.

I’m not a prude — I’m no Condeleezza Rice — but anal is not something I’m particularly interested in and I never thought Jake was either. That is until he came back after death in ghostly form to tell me otherwise.

IMO the joke sours a bit toward the end, though, when our haunted widow decides that she won’t be putting “another one of my orifices up on the sexual marketplace” and then waxes lyrical about how much she’ll enjoy his sexually-frustrated ghostly company. In death as in life, ha ha.

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