"I DON'T CARE!" The father yelled for the

"I DON'T CARE!" The father yelled for the fifth time. "But dad-" "No Jimmy!" "DADDY I LOVE YOU!" "I DON'T CARE, SON. I. DON'T. CARE." The Swedish sounding man yelled again.

The Dad continued playing on the piano! "I DON'T CARE, I DON'T CARE!" He paused and wrote a few more notes. "Jimmy, I'm working on my latest ABBA song, take a hike." His son turned

around and walked away, his sullen frame slipping out of the door. His father's obsession with ABBA had gone too far. He needed to do something about it, starting with the piano.

A rope was tied around the frame of the grand piano, knotted to a chandelier on the ceiling. He yanked it up quickly, before his Dad strolled in the room whistling to 'Mamma Mia'.

His dad looked up. The first thing he noticed was the grand piano. The next thing he noticed was it falling down on him. Moving his feet like Fred Flintstone and getting nowhere,

he suddenly remembered, all too late, that he was on a treadmill. 'Oh, fu--' The piano crushed my father to death before I got to hear his final words. But I think that they were:

Then he began to smell bad. "You're a hypocrite, Pops!" I told him as I rolled his carcass off the Possum Creek bridge and into 5 inches of stagnant water. It was only after

three miles down the road before I realized I had thrown the wrong carcass over the Possum Creek Bridge. I realized this when somebody who wasn't being a carcass started kicking &

thrashing in the trunk of my Cadillac. "Shit." I veered off the road onto the shoulder, getting out and going to the back of my car. I popped the boot open to face my victim.