RIP Petey

Petey was a good, hard working, generous man with about 48 grandchildren. He was one of my favorite people during my purgatory at a local tavern.
"Petey, whatchya been up to?"
"This and that... now and then. (Followed by muttering and mumbles.)"
Petey had great picnics where the ribs and the card dealing never stopped. At one of these picnics, one of Petey's young third-forth-fifth cousins, known for knocking up gullable white chicks (apparently, he doesn't believe in equally opportunity impregnanting) and then beating them senseless, tried to start a riot by loudly announcing, "She doesn't like black people." I paused, patted him on the knee, and said, "No, I just don't like you." You see, I loved Petey!
As if we didn't know, years of Black Velvets with a Bud Light chasers finally wrecked his liver. I guess they scheduled him to die by this past Christmas, but Petey did things in his own time.
I'm glad I just found out, because I am not one for funerals. I tend to stare-- at the corpse and the mourners. I am taken by their sense of seperationtheir seperation, not so much their loss.
There was only one Petey. Meaning, I will NEVER meet anyone that could even slightly reminded me of him and our conversations of about decent soul music. I am proud to have been considered one of Petey's Angels-- although there were just tow of us (Kristy Korea and me) and he was no Bosley. It worked for me.