FRANK

I have to attend a funeral today.

Well ... I don't have to ... it's not like there's a gun to my head or anything.

But it seems like the right thing to do.

Frank was a member of our church and was 79 years old.

I swear to God, I thought he was 110.

When Rev. Brian told us that Frank had passed away, I looked at Susie and said "What a shock! I thought Frank died two years ago!"

Frank was a sick man. I don't mean that he collected feminine hygiene products and molested kittens ... I mean he was constantly in the hospital. It seemed that every week, his wife would announce during our prayer concerns that Frank had pneumonia again. This guy had pneumonia more times than I've been laid in my life.

Frank was a tall man, about 6'4" and weighed right around 86 lbs. He was basically a functioning skeleton with a hacking cough. The kids at church would dare each other to go up and touch him, kinda like how you'd dare another kid to go up on the porch of an old abandoned house and open the door on Halloween night. Therefore, Frank was constantly being poked and prodded from the junior set at church.

Frank and I didn't have too many conversations between the two of us. I ran into him once at the grocery store a few months ago. I smiled and reached out to shake his hand and I think he thought I was a doctor and was about to examine him because he pulled up his shirt and took a deep breath.

We talked about our groceries. He had rice and beans, living on one of those elderly fixed income plans, while my cart was loaded down with ribeyes and lobster.

We were both on the evangelism board at church together. He only made it to one meeting though, our initial one in January. He didn't say much, which led me to believe that he had died. After the paramedics arrived and informed me that he was just quiet and suffering from dementia, I felt a little silly. It had to be a pretty big shock for Frank to hear me screaming that he was dead.

Frank is survived by his lovely wife Dot, who cannot be anywhere near his age. I'd say she's probably 61 or 62 years old. I'm going to try and hug her after the service and tell her "That's what you get for marrying old." I hope she understands what I mean and doesn't take it the wrong way.

Frank was a decorated war criminal. He was always quick to mumble about how he killed him one of them Nazis in a war, although I'm not sure which. I think what he meant was that he once ate a bratwurst the size of his leg.

I think what I'll remember most about Frank was his quiet demeanor which led most to believe that he was a simple man. You know, like retarded. But Frank had a great head on his shoulders. Not much skin, but a great head.

Frank had no children because he was quite fond of the butt sex.

For as old and ghastly as he was, Frank was still a proud man. According to his wife, Frank's last words were "Does this IV make me look fat?"

I'll be honest.

I barely knew Frank. I know he was a quiet and proud man and have no idea if he enjoyed the butt sex or not. We were on the same board together but since he was sick about ten months out of the year, we didn't get a chance to go out to strip clubs together or anything.

I'll miss Frank. Not like I'll miss ABC's "The Mole II" or like I miss Prince when he still had talent.

But I'll miss him just the same.

I've been called to eulogize him and I sure hope this diary entry works. Because that's what I'm going with.

Good luck Frank.

God rest ye merry gentleman.