I wish I were three again so I could get away with this shit

My uncle died last week, and the viewing was this last Sunday.
Little Johnny was running around, so I picked him up and walked toward the open casket. I asked him if he knew who was in the casket, and Johnny smiled, pointed at the crucifix and loudly stated, "I see Jesus!" He then pointed down at my uncle, and in the same loud voice said, "and he's dead!"
I buried my face in his jacket so people couldn't see me laughing, and then walked outside and proceeded to laugh so hard I heeped.

Uncle funeral part deux:
I was one of the pall bearers on Monday along with my brothers Darrell and three of my cousins. After the service at the Funeral home at the part where everyone walks past the open casket to either say goodbye or fuck you, each one of my uncle's grand kids put a golf ball in the box so he could play a round when he gets to Valhalla. Well, they migrated to the space under the bunting when the funeral guys moved the casket onto the box gurney, so that when we picked it up to take ole unc on his last car ride they decided to move.
Now, when I say three of my cousins along with the Darrells, you have to understand that my cousins are 6'5", 6'1" and 6'6", and my brothers are 5'7" and 5'5", so there was really no parity that would allow for evenly lifting or moving the casket, so as we made the way down the steps everyone could hear the brbrbrbbrbbrbrbrbrb of the golf balls rolling around in the metal box.

At the cemetery I decided to have some fun. I made sure that I was on the lower back corner, and as we walked, I gently lifted and lowered the casket so that there was a constant brbrbrbrbrbrbrbrbr of the balls rolling front to back and side to side.

You should have seen everyone that knew about the balls trying to cover their smiles.

I love me.

Fuck you Arlene, and fuck Santa Claus too!