I'm not sure I can do it. It's a fucking funeral. Inevitable. My uncle. The Daddler's brother. He drank himself out of a pancreas. Years ago. But managed to outlive three wives. All of whom were at least 15 years older. Mother always said he was looking for a mama. Maybe I should call him Uncle Oedipus. Or the Black Widower. Because he managed to go through several sweet ladies' life's savings. God. Please. If I get that desperate, I hope someone will put me out of my misery. I have a feeling Kiddo, the ultimate pragmatist, will handle that. I have a call in to the Vandy Department of Anatomy. If I give my body to science, they'll cremate me - at no cost to my family. In fact, I think my family will get a little cash out of the deal. If that doesn't pan out, I'm going to ask Kiddo to throw me in the Mighty Mississipp. Or my back yard. Actually, now that I think of it, Lucy has dug several holes more than big enough to hold my corpulent corpse. How convenient...
Wow. This is morbid. I'll blame it on Uncle Oedipus.
And the fact that I'll wind up in the same room as the Emotional Vampire. Have I mentioned that I detest her? Abhor? Hate? Don't give a shit? Wish I didn't.
It'll be ok. It always is.
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