The faster we get you in the ground, the sooner I can walk all over your dead ass.

Dear Grandfather,

I know this may come as a surprise, but your dead ass is not stirring any tears from my tired eyes. Between trips by foot to the local library and halfway reading and scoffing at classic literature, I barely find time to make my end meet. And please do get me started on the family. I would so enjoy to remove another useless patch of hair from my head. It's weight is so oppressive to my aching head. With so many nightmares to choose from, it is hard to imagine which family member I would be better to nestle up to, that I may shuffle through old magazines and newspapers, and pictures of people they didn't spend enough time with.

I hope you are enjoying a good laugh on the behalf of so many people who have taken breaks from clipping coupons and smoking pipe tobacco purchased at local gas stations. I hope you are enjoying a good laugh on account of so many wandering pricks who have their dicks caught in rotten egg pussies and unwashed asses. Mostly though, I hope you are just enjoying a good laugh.

How tired were you then to think that marrying off your sons to potato farmer's daughters would bring anything but starvation and baked frozen french fries? What encouraged you with the sorry idea that dying in the wafting of a glorious fart of money and booze and discount filter menthols was somehow genuine?

Do not fret old man. I see you are wise.
Do not fret old man. I can see that you are still hungry.
Do not fret old man. Your militia is unarmed and unpaid, but they are fed and warm.

I hope you are happy.
Oh I do hope so.
But I say so for fear it is not so.
Though I know you are so.

My jaw is not rusty.