Someone Who Never Said No

One of my old uncles died over the holidays in Newfoundland. He was 79. Not bad for someone who never said no to a drink, a smoke, a fuck or a punch-up. My uncle was a greaser. Newfoundlanders are the greasiest greasers going. I can still see him at the beach, hair slicked back, belly in the air, a couple of my other uncles pouring beer after beer into his beerhole. He could never get enough.

Many decades ago his doctor told him he could keep fucking and fighting but he had better quit the smoking and drinking. He did slow down his smoking and drinking but he never quit. You have to want to quit those things. Doctors do not know shit.

All the Newfoundland Constabulary knew my uncle. If they were not chasing him down they were drinking with him in one of the many bars they all spent their pay cheques in. The cops knew my uncle was not a bad man. He just did not know how to be good.

He died of lung cancer like lots of my Newfoundland relatives have over the past hundreds of years. Died real slow. I am not Anne Motherfucking Landers, and this is no original insight, but I have a wee bit of advice for you anyway. Smoke dope, not cigarettes.