REST IN PIECE BOB.
You were a great help at time of my sisters death six months ago, the only guy in the whole of Newtown to grab me and hug me even though hugs are way off the agenda for me usually. I don’t even hug my girlfriends or Mum. You were good to talk to and always worth listening to with your advice, unlike the rest of the old junkie fuck heads in Wellington, New Zealand.
I am insanely jealous of all your body armour, somewhat illegal knives, weapons and assorted flak jackets, bullet proof material, helmets, camo gear, night vision scopes…. Gas masks… Hell boy, I know where it all is now. Luckily for me, and you Bob, I am known as someone to be trusted and relied upon.
The moment I heard of your death your friend and mine, the old skin, was on the dog and bone. Within a few hours we had your hundreds of DVD’s, thousands of books, all your camping and survival and some of the more interesting items vanished into thin air. Before even the most seagull like local drug scene people started sniffing around.
Unfortunately the cost getting your sorry ass burnt and the ashes back is quite a bit. We are working on it. You will be fine. We found your old best friends ashes in the back of a cupboard and you two will be joined together as one and scattered from an old military bunker on a Wellington hill as soon as possible. I am even putting the seats back into my car to give people lifts there for you Bob.
Hey Bob, I have a confession mate. I lied to you a number of times. You remember all those times I gave you lifts. Sometimes all the way out the Hutt. Well, really Bob, I wasn’t “going that way anyway”. I was giving you a lift as you had trouble walking and were in some pain.
I am sorry that last week, the last time I saw you, that you were yellow rather than your usual robust shade of brown. I am sorry that when your eyes looked at me, they were yellow too. I am sorry that I had told you I was trying to get on drug tests for HEP and failing liver. I am glad you were genuinely pleased for me when I told you that it was working and that my HEP had gone and my liver would live. You truly looked happy at this news. Like it was you who was going to be cured. Unfortunately your liver, at less than 10% operating, did not stand a chance of surviving the fall you took and the smash to the head that killed you. Even at 10% or less liver function you probably would have outlived most. Climbing up on stools and chairs to reach something is something I would do Bob.
I am getting old soon too. My fourtieth birthday is the day of your cremation old mate. I don’t know what to say. 2013 has been a hell of a year. Roll on 2014?
You, BOB, are a good man. I man of some moral integrity. I suppose some people would say you died young at 57.
Dude, the life lead by you would have taken many a player at much younger age.
It is with this strength and honour I shall remember you.