I got a call from my buddy Greg a couple of days ago. Our estranged mutual best friend, David, passed away the day before. He was calling to tell me the news. At first, I didn’t know what to say then I asked him if it was suicide. David had been acting weird lately, turning down bars and movies. Even video games. No one could get through to him no matter how hard they tried. Greg informed that his death had nothing to do with his own hand and I breathed a sigh of relief. Then we lapsed into a soft silence for a minute or two.
“So how did it happen then?” I asked, breaking the quiet. He told me that no one had completely put it all together yet, but it involved David’s favorite thing: food. I had to chuckle at the irony. Then more silence. Now it was Greg’s turn to ebb the quiet’s flow. “Just so you know, the funeral’s tomorrow.”
“So soon?” I asked.
“Yeah. I guess his parents are of the get-him-in-the-ground-before-he-starts-smelling frame of mind. Or maybe they just suck at grieving. In any case, it’s time to come back home buddy. I told him I’d take the first flight I could. He told me that he’d meet me at the airport, but before we hung up, he told me to watch a couple of episodes of the good CSI, the Vegas one, in preparation to solve the mystery at hand.
The funeral came and went. I held my corner of the casket, Greg held his. I gave my epilogue, Greg gave his. Everybody watched him lowered into the ground. Afterwards, there was a celebration of life ceremony, or as we call it around here, a colmony, with lots of food and booze and food and booze. And music. There were many tears, some of sorrow some of joy. It was during this whole thing that Greg gave me all the details he could that dealt with the fatal night. “They found him, sitting in his favorite chair, a giant smile on his face. Turns out, David died in a cooking accident. He had made himself a prime cut, a Texas sirloin, and went to town. I say “made” and not “cooked” because it wasn’t. The thing was almost completely rare. The paramedic told his parents that if they had gotten there any later, the piece of meat would have walked away. You know how he liked it. Anyways, there was something in the meat that did him in. Some toxin or something.” He paused a moment, letting me chew on and digest all of the information, before letting me know that he and I are apparently the executors of his will. He then informed me that we were to go to his apartment and get everything ready to be dolled out.
Later that night, we were going through the material entirety of our fallen friend when I stumbled upon it. At first, I didn’t know what to do, I just stared. I kind of smiled, kind of laughed, kind of threw up a bit in my mouth. I tried to keep it all in. But I couldn’t so I called Greg over to me and pointed. His reacted the same way I did. We just lost it, fell on the floor laughing. Then my girlfriend texted me, asked me how it was going. I texted her back.
(850): So when we opened his headboard we found a bottle of Crisco sitting on top of his porn magazines.
(850): I guess we all know what he was cooking for dessert.
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