In my time of dying....

Mike Pinks funeral got me to

thinking about stuff that people

deal with when someone dies.

At his service, the funeral home

played Mikes favorite rock songs

in a low tone in the background, while

a large flat screen television posted a

nice variety of photographs from throughout Mikes life.

I liked that touch. They really started wailing when "knockin on heavens door" came across the speakers. I guess I never gave much thought to wha kind of music I would want played at my funeral. I love so much different stuff, it would be hard I would think, for a loved one to pick out the soundtrack of my burial. Jeni and I sat together listening to music and quizzed each other on what we might select to play. I have a mind like a Rolodex for music sometimes, so I was pretty close when I was guessing band to song type questions.

Jeni, not so good all the time with titles, was very close with a suitable tribute playlist. I want cremation, but in the old Norse way. Build a huge timber pire and set my old corpse a burning. "Smokin like a ole tire, that bastard...", my brother-in-law would say." Someone will probably call the township...I just knew this was a bad idea...", my mom says, as her head flies from side to side looking for the cop wagon to come and haul us a way for off season burning. Jeni, exasperated by now, has retreated to the front doors to smoke, the only evidence being the hum of the Amigoand the sound of the plastic oxygen tubing dragging behind her. Jamie , overcome with grief, has gone off to rifle through my stuff for some Magic cards he still claims are his.Hope, having ran out of energy two rows into the bleachers, sits with her hand on hip, disgusted with all the bad manners she see's in the room, followed by momentary weeping because she realizes that the only person on earth SHE could beat playing cards is burning like a oil fire.

And low, what is this gathered on the

sidewalk outside? All the poor summabitches that ever got monetarily jumped in hold'em poker. About 17000 people smoke and share tales of how fast the chips passed from them to me. Standing next to them, all the people who was "just about to call you" when they thought, "hey I owed that guy some serious cash..", as they passed your obit in the paper."They dont know about the money, Ill cash in on the luncheon afterparty...".

Little do these deadbeat parasites know, but whilst they plot to secure a free lunch, my funeral inferno has spilled over into the parking lot, and all the deadbeats

shit box little cars are fully involved in the fire. The poker enemies, hearing the sirens notice how close the fire is getting to their stuff,and in turn trample the deadbeats.Normally this would sound like screaming and the crushing of human bodies, but due to the fact the deadbeats are just soulless shells of insect feces, they crumble into a fetid powder under the heels of the "poker stampede". My mother, proudly striding toward the parking lot points to the big red trucks in distance and says," the township.Told ya we shoulda called em.....".With the flick of the wrist and a fist in the air, Jeni takes off down the hillside.She has seen enough of this chaos.With her Amigo's battery dangerously low ( because like a cordless phone, them things plug themselves back in...dont they?) she stalls in the rain gutter.To proud to ask for help, she stares out to the roadway and plans her next move.

My sister hustles up the side walk

catch up with my mom who has made it to her car and now searches inside her hand bag for the keys she has in her other hand.With a loud summons, my dad shouts down to Jeni," hey you...ahh what her name, ahh..",he asks,"..whats her name?..".With no more than a shift in her scooter seat, Jeni floats the old man the bird.Having the attention span of a Cocker Spaniel, my dad wanders down the sidewalk surveying the burning cars.

5 fire trucks roll past the funeral home at 74 miler per hour, showering the wayward Jeni with fine gravel taking her back to "the Best room you got.." episode, where we stayed at a motel that had a pool 30 ft from an off ramp from I-75. Whomever took it upon themselves to call the township for the burning ordinance violation got the house number wrong, and with the blink of an eye, the rescue squad roars by , and off into the distance and becomes a little red dot on the horizon. Freeing her Amigo Jeni rolls to the end of the street, turns to see my family piled up at the traffic light, 17 burning cars and trucks, a small oil fire from my body and a crowd of 35 or so on lookers.With the eruption of a small propane grill tank in the bed of a burning truck, a cool wind, and then.....rain....Jeni leans back, shakes her head from side to side, and with a laugh says......." nice, Cary......nice".