Let's Kill Grandpa This Christmas Page #3

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in all these little white lies.

So one day, I trailed the

bastard on the way to work.

I watch as he walks into

this garden-level apartment.

Lights turn on.

He sits down, and some guy walks over

and starts running his

fingers through Carl's hair.

And then I look over and I see the sign.

Dr. Lipschitz, Cosmetic Surgeon.

Yeah, I caught the bastard, all right.

He was having hair implantation surgery.

- Carl has plugs?

- Yeah, don't you ever tell anyone.

- But he's got such great hair.

- Well, now you know why.

- This place is really nice.

You got lovely old school charm.

- Don't bullshit me, Carl,

this place is a f***ing dump.

Hey, did you get a haircut or something?

Looks different.

- Oh, I started combing it different.

Does it look okay, or?

- Yeah, it's good, it's

a good look for you.

Let's get that fireplace cracking, Carl.

- How did you get away with it?

I mean, how did you tell

Jen you got laid off?

- Laid off, Carl, I volunteered.

I told my boss if it came down to mine

or someone else in my department's head

going on that chopping

block, let it be mine.

I obviously never told Jen that,

but that's how it all went down.

That's on the DL, by the way.

- Oh yeah, I'd never say anything.

- Carl, I'm gonna say

something right now that's,

it's a funny thing to say out loud.

And I'm only admitting

to it because I know

that you'd never say

anything to the wifeys.

- Of course not.

- I've been having all

these crazy dreams lately

about what it might be

like to euthanize Grandpa.

What?

- Don't bullshit me, Carl.

I know you've been having them, too.

You got that 2.2 mill

coming down the pipe.

Let's think, that longevity

on that side of the family.

Come on, new hip here,

heart surgery there.

Putting him in a f***ing home?

Carl, that leaves your inheritance

like it's a blue plate special.

And you're telling me you

haven't had any dreams?

- What?

- Come on, Carl, we're fantasizing.

In my fantasy,

I usually get him with a little rat poison

in his prune juice.

It's the least detectable.

I mean, not that they'd

ever do an autopsy.

They rarely do on the elderly.

They just assume they go

out on their own accord.

So what about you?

How have you been getting?

- I, uh, I can't believe

I'm telling you this.

I pushed him down the stairs.

- Nice.

No fingerprints, smart.

What else?

- I suffocate him with his pillow.

- You animal.

- Oh, and I bludgeon him with an anvil.

Is that cliche?

Carl, you're a scary guy,

you're scaring me.

- You're a crazy guy.

- It's fun talking about

stuff like this, isn't it?

It's fun to fantasize.

- It's sick is what it is.

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