A beloved relative died Friday at home doing what he loved: meth.

Meth was a great friend, always there for him in his time of need:
When he was down, meth picked him up and got him going.
When he couldn’t decide on a project, meth picked a new one for him.
When he had an itch he just couldn’t seem to scratch, meth showed him how and for how long.
When he needed money, meth showed him where all the scrap metal was.
When he wanted to brush his teeth, meth showed him how easy life is without them.
When he felt the need to sleep, meth encouraged him to get more meth. Sleep is for pussies anyway.

He was preceded in meth by millions of other high quality human beings.

(This one goes out to my brother who died on Friday, August 26. The culprit was heart failure but I’ll let you guess where it came from.)