Page 228 - NIXBOOK

Old dead man, dead in his recliner. Local resident, very Norwegian-sounding first and last name of Ole Gunderson. Just about
the best way to die, really – in one’s easy chair, with no apparent signs of distress. The funeral home guys show up to remove
the body. First order of business, remove the wedding ring from the finger, which is quite stiff with rigor. Funeral home
professional dead-guy handler guy- himself in his 70’s- efficiently grabs the hand, stretches the fingers out with much cracking,
and got the ring off. I don’t know what was worse - that the fingers needed to be cracked to straighten out or that the funeral
home cadaver-remover-guy used just his bare hands.

It was a cold, wet September Sunday. The homeless young man outside the church was answering the paramedic’s questions
with a satisfactory degree of accuracy: “What is your name? Do you know where you are right now? What is the date today?
Who is the President? How many quarters in a dollar?” But it had been his opening statement to us that led to the questioning:
“I killed Satan.” He also made some incoherent statements about LSD, so I determined his condition was probably a combination
of mental illness and drugs. He willingly went with the aid crew to the hospital for a mental evaluation at the hospital.

Below: 1991. Don’t look for me in this picture here, this was just two years before I was hired. As you can very clearly see, back
in those days, mustaches were still very much a thing.