Yeah, my Grandpa Bud finally decided to up and fucking die on us Friday. I was beginning to think the old fart was gonna live forever as many times as we've been called in to say our "last" goodbyes.
Matter of fact, I called in Friday so I could hunt the full moon Thursday night/Friday morning and was on my way back into town about 11 AM when I got the call from Dad.
"Pop just died."
Huh? "What did you just say?"
"Bud just died.
"No fucking shit? Really?"
"No shit. Where you been? We've been trying to get ahold of you - called work, called the house and been trying to call your cell."
"I was in the hills shooting coyotes."
"Yeah? Do any good? Look, drop off your rifle and get your ass over to Aunt Sharons'. Your mama's there and needs you."
So I get over to Sharons' place and bigger than shit, the motherfucker was dead. Still lying there in his bed as a matter of fact and not looking too good, I might add.
Anyways, mama saw I was there, grabbed me and started bawling. I hold her for a minute then set her down on the couch and set for a minute with Bud.
Fuck, he really was dead......
His obit was in the paper today and it's in the post down below. I liked the part about him coming out here to The Promised Land back in the early 30s in a boxcar. What the obit didn't say was my great granny loaded him and his sisters and brothers in that boxcar and all came out here together looking for Buds' dad who had came out here first and was supposed to send for the family except that he got drunk and laid up with a loose woman.
And the part about him liking everybody? Only if you weren't black, indian, mexican, oriental, arab, jewish, eskimo, hindu european or especially a goddamyankee.