“Hey, Barry. I heard about your Dad. Tough break.”

“Thanks, Carl. But you know, it was just his time to go. At least he was doing what he loved—riding his motorcycle.”

“So are you having him buried or cremated?”

“Neither, actually.”

“Neither?”

“Yeah. He had this kind of weird provision in his will…he wanted to go on motorcycling forever, even after he died. So…”

“So?”

“So I’ve had his skeleton chromed, and built into a motorcycle chassis, just like he wanted. That’s it right there on the lawn. Oh…are you okay? You’ve just sprayed coffee all over your shirt.”

“That’s…that’s…”

“Bizarre? Twisted? Sick? I’ve heard it all—and I agree with you. But it was in the will. I had to have it done if I wanted to inherit.”

“Wow. I…don’t know what to say. I’m really at a loss here.”

“Yeah, and you haven’t heard the worst of it.”

“It gets worse?”

“Well, how would you like having to ride your father to work every day?”