The One About Burial Plots and Breaking the Law

March 04, 2005

hi kids,

the other day i received a phone call from Popsicle.
p: i’ve got a hypothetical question for you.

j: okay, shoot.

p: okay, let’s say your mom and i were to die.

j: yeah?

p: you with me so far?

j: you guys are dead?

p: yeah.

j: got it.

p: okay, well, would you want to…visit…us?

j: visit? like, visit your grave?

p: yeah.

j: is this about Flippy’s dad?

p: well, yeah. she needs to buy some burial plots and wants two of them for her mom and dad.

j: yeah. so…you’re gonna sell her yours?

p: well… we were wondering if it would upset you.

j: well, those plots are at Crestwood, right?

p: uh, yeah. you knew where are burial plots were?

j: dad, i know everything.

p: hee, right. so…is that okay?

j: oh yeah. there’s no way i’m going to visit you at Crestwood. are you kidding me? i’d be mugged. or worse.

p: hahahahaha! so you wouldn’t come to our grave? put some flowers-

j: hell no. it just figures you and mom would buy plots on that side of town. geez.

p: you really wouldn’t visit? (to mom) she said she won’t visit our graves!

j: not unless i was packing heat. and i don’t have any heat. i dunno that i’ll ever have heat, so for the time being, no.

p: okay then. i guess i’ll sell these plots to Flippy.

j: i’m glad i could help.

p: well, your mom and i were talking about it and…we’ve decided…

j: yeah?

p: well, we want to be cremated.

j: alright.

p: so you could i dunno, keep an urn of our ashes or-

j: oh hell no! no way. i am NOT keeping ANY ashes.

p: hahahahaha or maybe you could scatter them-

j: no way. you wanna be burned fine. but i am not dealing with the aftermath, okay? so if you have a special place you want the ashes scattered you can either tell Justin or tell your lawyer to find someone, ya dig?

p: hahahahahahaha

j: in fact, i’ll probably just give you a viking funeral anyway. launch you down the Mighty Coosa River and shoot a flaming arrow. you’ll burn and float. there’ll be a huge party. you don’t mind me filming the fire part do you? it’ll be awesome.

p: (to mom) hey, she said she’s gonna give us viking funerals.

m: (in the background) you two are sick you know that?

so the next day Flippy’s father dies. it’s sad, but he’s been sick for quite sometime so i imagine it’s almost a relief, you know? dad and i are at the Holy House working and he tells me that later on he and Flippy are going down to the funeral home to get the deed to the plots switched over in her name.

around three o’clock he leaves with Flippy and i continue working. about 20 minutes later they come back and tell me that they need me to forge mom’s name because they won’t sign over the deed unless mom and dad’s signatures are both on the thingy. “fine,” i say, i’m used to forging mom’s name anyway, got real good at it in high school, “where do i sign?”

“well, that’s the thing,” Flippy says, “you have to go to the funeral home with us.”

“what? now?! like this?” i ask, refering to my state of dress: coveralls covered in paint, paint splattered jacket, and nasty ball cap.

“yeah. we need to get this done. let’s go.”


i figured that either
A. mom was busy and couldn’t go or
B. they weren’t able to find mom ‘cos sometimes she makes calls in the afternoon to hospitals and such.

on the way to the funeral home i say, “i’m supposed to be laura pickle?”


“i’m supposed to be married to dad? won’t this look really obvious? like, that deed was from 1984.”
at this point i start sweating bullets.

“heh, talk about cradle robbing!”

“this is crazy. this will never work!”

“oh sure it will. all you have to do is sign mom’s name.”

“oh sure, easy. but what if they ask for my driver’s liscense?”

“they won’t.”

“we’re all going to jail aren’t we?”

“nah, we won’t get caught. they don’t care.”

“well, if i worked there i’d care. i mean, hello? look at us!”

“i know, it really does look bad. it looks like two crackheads killed pat and laura pickle and stole their burial plots to resell.”

“hee. those would be some clever crackheads.”

“okay, whatever happens, don’t laugh.”

which is easier said than done, right? i mean, ladies, how often do you have to pretend to be your mom? with your father present? for illegal purposes?
lemme tell ya, as soon as we walked in the place we were smirking, skknt-ing, and NOT MAKING EYE CONTACT WITH EACH OTHER.

a little later this lady is going over the files and she’s looking at us like she’s not buying it for a second that i’m laura pickle. she says, “are we all here?”
“uh huh.”

“okay, then. um, Flippy, your father passed away, right?”
“and you’re pat…and where’s laura?”

“this is laura.”
“right here.”

“you’re laura?”
“mhmm.” shitshitshitshit. don’t crack. don’t crack. don’t crack.

“okaaay. well, pat you sign here…and laura *stares at me* ….you sign here.”

it was like she knew something was up, but she couldn’t quite figure out why two housepainters were lying about burial plots, or why this obviously upstanding citizen was helping them lie about burial plots.

she then took the papers and left the room to get them notarized.

“whew,” said Flippy, “i’m glad that’s over. i thought i was going to crack up.”

“hey,” i said, “we’re not out of the building yet. she probably went to call the police.”

she came back and everything seemed to be okay, no security guards or police or other official looking people. a few more words were exchanged. quite awkwardly, and then we left.
as soon as our feet hit the pavement we fled the scene. we laughed about it on the way back to work. i think we were all surprised that it actually worked. well, to be honest, that lady was NOT fooled, right? but she didn’t call us on it. so there you go. no jail that day.
which is always a bonus, right?

later that evening i saw mom. “hi, Mrs. Pickle.” she says.
“ha.ha. where were you anyway?”
“when the law was being broken earlier today. were you on a call?”
“no. i was here all day. i found out about your little escapade just a few minutes ago.”
“you’re kidding! they didn’t even TRY to call you did they?!”
“oh. my. god! we broke the law so that they wouldn’t have to drive 5 WHOLE MINUTES to the church to pick you up?”
“pretty much.”
“arg! i’m gonna kill them!”

also, it is worth mentioning that it was mom and dad’s 31st anniversary. so on the way to the funeral home dad is all, “wow honey, 31 years, huh?”
“oh shut it, dad.”
“and gosh, our daughter sure is a bitch isn’t she?”
“ha. this is weird.”

oy, never a dull moment.
i mean, never. ever.
“keeps life interesting,” you say.
“keeps me drinking,” i reply.

in other random:
an old dude at the Holy House told me three times that i was the “purtiest painter” he’d ever seen. awwww. i wonder if he’d have said that if he knew that i was a dirty lawbreaker?

next week’s epitomb: i dunno, what’s next? bank robbery?

jaimie “laura” pickle

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