We all did paintball that day. Including Larry and Elizabeth.

Dear Larry,

What the fcuk? Why did you insist on being “healthy” and do that working out crap? You KNOW that generationally we don’t do that. We grew up on canned peas salted so long they were gray, space food sticks and Tang®. Seriously, you should have known better.

It’s not like this new age exercise and artisanal food–in which onions and kale and blueberries run free–makes us healthier. It just costs more money. You know that, too.

Frankly, it’s bad enough you rejected our childhood staple, bologna, when you became a friggin vegetarian. Your Babcie would so not approve that you eschewed kielbasa for rice cakes. No dobrze.

There’s other ways to remain relevant. Ones that are more passive and include hamburgers. For example, remember we worked on music. You were a decent student. I hooked you up with those Kings of Leon tickets and introduced you to Queens of the Stone Age. Although you held stubbornly against my attempts to get you into hip hop. But there was hope. I had hope, anyway.

At least you got it right on raising kids. You loved them for them. You let them be them. You knew it wasn’t about you. They never had to seek your approval. Your daughters had your love. Period.

But you went on that fcuking treadmill. And you dropped dead.

I can say that to you. Because that’s what you would say. You were never full of bullshit. Even though you worked in a job that was full of bullshittery.

You did as good as anyone could, you stupid man. Your family was with you. I hope you knew that.

I guess that fcuking Union won. #FreeLarryOrluskie

It’s done. Goodbye friend.

Peace and love,

Apologies, Loyal Reader, if you find this tribute cryptic or unfathomable.
I could write nothing else after I heard. Today, I wrote for me, not you.

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