Sancho Panza

Two recent conversations with my father:

1) Funerals

Me: So where do you want to be buried?
Pop: In the graveyard.
Me: I know that, but do you have a plot or something?
Pop: No.
Me: Well, are you going to buy one?
Pop: I will in my shite. I've paid for enough things in this life. After a few days of me stinking, ye will find somewhere to put me down.

2) Incense Burning

Pop: What incense are you burning?
Me: Benzoin. Do you like it?
Pop: No. It smells like dog's shite.

No one turns cynicism and misanthropy into nuggets of comedic gold quite like my old poppa. No one will ever make me laugh quite like he does.