I Don't Really Give A Shit What You Think

To counter the last story, a memory that is is both a bit sad, but humorous came to mind.

When my best friend (mentioned in the previous story) was dying, and mind you, we didn't know he was dying at the time, several of us stole some Penthouse magazines and made a get well card using pictures. It was more of a book really. His mother was absolutely horrified. We were 11 years old. My friend was all smiles and laughter and that made his mother's anger worth it.

I had not thought about that "get well" effort for many years until I moved back home and I was out in his father's shop shooting the shit with him. We were talking about old times and he went to a cabinet and pulled out a manilla envelope. Surprise surprise! Inside was that old stapled and taped together Penthouse get well book that had upset my friend's mother.

"This was the best thing he ever got and after he passed away I could not throw it out." he told me. It may have been a poignant moment, but we both laughed our asses off.

Not all memories of death are bad. This was a good one.