A Sexy Granddaughter
(A John Rice confession)
I met her down at Darling Harbour, the sexiest granddaughter I had ever seen. She was not overtly drunk, nor noticeably depressed, but her introduction alone was openly original… Her grandfather had passed away at 6am that morning.
I purchased her a few rounds of drinks while we danced through the evening until her lips swapped my kisses for the sun’s.
An incredible cab ride from a Russian man named Jason and it was suddenly 6am Sunday morning – and we were kicking on at her deceased grandfather’s house.
I retired to bed for a quick nap and some sex (of which I don’t completely remember) and re-emerged to kick-on in full swing. Strangely, my compadres had followed me. I had no recollection of inviting anyone around, and decided to blame the abundance of people at this dead man’s house solely on my editor. I explained that we had a story to cover (which is a great line for leaving any situation early – not so much for explaining an abundance of strangers appearing in a dead man’s house). Usually, I would feel bad for delivering a poorly thought lie, but after what followed, I feel that this is a tiny byline to a far worse deed.
Stumbling around the dead man’s house, we proceeded to eat his surviving food and drink his dying drinks.
We rearranged the mourning furniture from one side of the dead house to the other. We used both of his still-breathing, respirators and raced around the haunted corridors in his widowed wheelchairs. We raided his wardrobe and ended up wearing nothing but his decaying underpants and still-grieving hats for the majority of the day.
Later in the afternoon, the sexiest granddaughter I have ever known, who I just helped get over her grandfather hours ago, was suddenly picked up by her saddened dad… who was in-fact a grieving son. And grieving or not, family or not, he lacked the courtesy to ring the doorbell – arriving unannounced around the back of the house.
The picture he saw shocked him at first. My friend Henry was face-down, spread- eagled, butt-naked in the garden, being hosed down by another acquaintance, John (also butt-naked) and Me… also butt-naked… videoing the ensuing act with the dead man’s rotting camera, like a naked Howard Hughes.
The angry-father/hateful-son just stood there for a bit… speechless, none of us quite knew what to do so we just sort of ran around yelling for a bit, like stoned rugby players in the showers. We quickly put clothes on, though we had trouble picking which were dead clothes and which were our own.
Suddenly, a grieving army stormed the backyard, a myriad of black clothing and judgemental faces polluted the patio. The brother of the sexy granddaughter and her mother had all arrived to the Rigor Mortis Ranch, to tidy it up and get it ready for the coming wake. But what they saw was three, semi-naked men wearing the clothes of the deceased, house trashed, bottles and cigarettes everywhere… it was an awfully awkward situation for us, which dragged on as we bumped and fumbled around the yard, gathering our belongings.
Henry made things considerably worse when the brother grabbed one of the hats from him, said (shaking his floppy head) “dude that’s my granddads hat! … That is not on man…”
Henry’s rebuttal to shift the blame “Sorry, the only reason I had it on is because John was trying to piss in it, don’t worry though, I stopped him”
Fairly soon after this comment, we were asked to leave by the mother.
The sexiest granddaughter girl ran out the front… considerably upset.
That was the last time I saw her.