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Where’s Granny? — an Inappropriate Life Lesson for Kids
by Bob Iozzia

You know she’s dead, right?
Other than that, no one still living can conclusively say anything further. She may be ashes in a mason jar on a seldom-used foosball table in your Rumpus Room, ashes and bits of bone in the stomachs of blow fish in the Atlantic Ocean near Seaside Heights, NJ or decomposing in a chipboard box buried beneath the mulch pile at your local DPW. Or she may be an invisible ghost that can play mean tricks on you because you refused to kiss her after you told her she smelled like a cat box.
One place she ain’t is Heaven.
“Why, Mr. Iozzia, did she do something bad?” you might ask.
No, Phoebe. Cheating at bingo is pathetic and petty, but it’s not an afterlife punishable offense.
“Did she kill somebody?”
No, Tommy Jo Willie Bob Jimmy Luke, Jr. Making people violently ill with her possum & peach pot pie was pitifully careless, but was done without malice or intent, and almost everyone eventually recovered.
“Did she steal Sweet ’N Low packets from a diner?”
Yes, of course she did, Shaniqua, but everyone does. FYI, if everyone does something illegal, it becomes a virtue and, after three years, it also becomes a requirement, which means you have to do it or the cops will shoot your puppy.
Granny may have been a petty, kleptomaniacal embarrassment, but she’s not going to Heaven for one reason and one reason only: as you may remember, there is no such place as Heaven.
I know I said no one still living can definitely say what happens to a person after they die, but I think they don’t go anywhere—and I’m pretty good at guessing (I once came within 1,500 of guessing the number of marbles in a goldfish bowl). They just stay dead—even deader if they are cremated, which means their corpses are put into a really powerful Easy-Bake Oven that nukes them to kingdom come.
The good news (not for her): if by chance Granny was planted in the ground without a coffin, the petty, kleptomaniacal embarrassment is a hero. That’s because when her body is rotting, it feeds trees and plants, which is good for the planet, which makes her green. Hey, she could be called Granny Green! I like that.
Unfortunately, bugs that can sting your eyes out, animals that can chew your legs off and crawly things that ooze and spit poison slime that can burn holes in your skin like to hang out by trees fertilized with dead people, which means you can never pay your respects to Granny Green ever and forever.
Oh, well. One way or another, it won’t matter. You probably didn’t like her, anyway. And even if you did, you won’t feel so bad in a year or two when the world explodes and there is nothing left anywhere, except, of course, for cockroaches, which can survive anything. How do they do that?
Have a nice day.