A story about my father

So, it's been 9 years since my father died. 

I figured that I'd lighten the mood by telling a story about him.

Warning: graphic content about cancer, a penis, sex, and death.

When I was young, dad got prostate cancer. It was operable, and he came through it with flying colors, except for the fact that he couldn't hold his bladder. For a short time, until he healed, he had a clamp. You can guess where that went. 

Later on, he got a pump for his prostate, so he could get an erection. Just because he was divorced and 42 years older than me, it didn't mean he wasn't gonna get laid.

Flash forward to 2011.

He dies of a heart attack in his sleep. 

His 4 sons go to the funeral home for the viewing, and we all break down crying. We pull ourselves together enough to talk to the funeral director about the disposition of his remains. She explains to us about the cremation, and what's going to happen.

"Any medical devices will be removed from the ashes, and you will receive the ashes in a bag, in a box."

We all get quiet, and stifle laughter. She doesn't know what's going on, and why we're all trying not to laugh. 

Finally, George asks, "What's gonna happen to the pump?"

We all fall out laughing for a solid 10 minutes. The funeral director doesn't understand. 

When we can finally compose ourselves, we explain about the cancer, and the pump, and our father's noteriety for being a bit of a hound. She explains that it was probably silicone or plastic, so it would melt, and become part of the ashes. 

It's been many years, and his ashes haven't been spread, but remain in that bad, in that box. So, naturally, they're a brick now.

At the time, we just went with it, but recently, I realized something...

My father got a pump so he could get hard.

It melted, and became part of his ashes.

Now, his ashes are brick.

That horn dog gets to be hard forever.