J. Lennon - The Funnies

“Oh my God,” said Pierce.

I dropped the knife back into the drawer and clattered around until I found a scissors, then followed the instructions in the letter. A fine gray dust rose as our father cascaded into the urn.

“Oh, yuck, yuck!” Pierce was saying. We backed away, terrified of inhaling him. From across the kitchen we watched the dust settle. After a safe interval, I clamped the lid on, threw the box into the trash and wiped up the counter with a rag.

“How about the river?” I said to Pierce in the car. He drove while I kept the urn on the floor, clamped between my ankles.

“What if it floats? It’ll float, and then it’ll just get tangled up in some old branches and mud on the bank.”

“We could go down the shore.”

“No way,” he said. We were tooling around on some narrow county road. “We’ll throw it in and it’ll come crashing right back on us. And then it’ll be all over our clothes.” He bit his lip. “I was thinking of renting a plane or a helicopter or something and dropping it out.”

“What if it blows back in?”

“Ew, ew,” he said.

“We could just bring the urn to the Salvation Army in some little town. Somebody would buy it and put it on the mantel.”

“We could leave it by the side of the road.”

“We could leave it on a golf course.”

“We could dump it in the Pine Barrens.”

We didn’t talk for a long time. Somewhere, Pierce pulled over at a gas station. We sat silent and still while the attendant pumped. Super Unleaded, our father’s grade. While Pierce was paying I got out and put the urn in the trunk, wedged between a plastic milk crate full of motor oil and a busted starter motor in a greasy cardboard box. That’s where it is today.

While writing this I consulted excellent books on cartooning by Morts Walker and Gerberg. Judy Moffett, thank goodness, made me attend a science fiction conference. For crossing t’s and dotting i’s, thanks to Rhian, Ed, Jill, Andy G and Julie; for their ongoing dirty work thanks to Lisa and Jeff. Thank you Ruben Bolling for your fine photography, and boosters Ruden, Prose, Bukiet, Spencer and the Art Museum of Missoula. I am grateful to all Riverheadbangers and to dispersed West Phunnydelphians Lee Ann, Andy C, Host, Kevin, Shauna, Luggage, Biscuit, Kristen, R.C. Thanks to every card, clown, ham, wag and cutup I’ve ever known, who ought to have the good humor to forgive me for not naming them. And finally I must thank my family, who provided me with God’s gift to comedy, New Jersey.