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Uncle Remo's Situation

'Tragedy is like comedy, people still die but it’s less funny.’

-An Expert Thespian

In Kyle and Gillian’s apartment, Gillian was in the kitchen, pouring out her stale beer into the sink and talking on her slab. Kyle was still on the couch, on which he’d now spent twelve percent of his adult life.

‘Ok fine. Yep. Alright.’ came Gillian’s voice, in counterpoint to an unheard other. ‘Okay. Sure. Alright. Yes. Yes. Alright. Fine. Mm-hmm. Okydoky.’ She deactivated her slab and walked into the living room.

‘Uncle Remo’s dead’ she said.

‘I’m sorry’ replied Steve.

‘At least he died doing what he loved.’

‘Teeing golf balls off a hooker’s pubis?’ asked Kyle, trying to remember which one was Uncle Remo.

‘No, accidentally reversing an electric car into a swimming pool.’

‘Fucking electric cars.’

‘The funeral is tomorrow.’

‘Ok babe.’

‘And you’re going.’

‘What?’ said Kyle, outraged, ‘Why? Five seconds ago I didn’t even know you had an Uncle Remo!’

’Mom told me to bring that ‘nice boy you’ve been seeing’ but I’m taking you instead, ha har.’

‘Jesus, alright. Fine. I guess.’

‘And you have to rent a suit.’

′FUCK!′ said Kyle.

‘I’m going to bed’ yawned Gillian and kissed Kyle on the head.

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