This weekend I was thinking about dying, and the ridiculousness of contemplating non-existence. Somehow I got to thinking about what will happen when I eventually have hellspawn and they come to me seeking answers.

“Daddy” they’ll say, as I’m shoveling dirt on to the corpse of one of my parents. I ain’t buying no coffin, that shit is a racket.

“Daddy” they’ll inquire again, “Where is Nana gone to?”

And I’ll just keep heaping the dirt onto the body, trying to ignore them.

“Daddy?”, “Daddy!”, Daddy?!” they’ll keep pestering me.

“What happen? Where Papa now?”

And I’ll have to look them deep in the eyes and tell them them the truth:

“I HAVE NO IDEA. Now stop bugging me and grab a fucking shovel! There’s flies!”