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My father lined up his putt.

“Praise Jesus,” said his brother.

My uncle had recently found religion. Taken Jesus into his heart. He'd been born again.

Or, as my father put it, “Bullshit.”

My uncle’s Jesus was the kind of savior who not only (more)
There are the ten toes...count ' two three four five six. Ya, OK then. And the fingers - they're all there. Wiggle wiggle. Got 'em and flaunt 'em.

The nose. (Something stinks. We'll have to deal with that later.) Neck cracking, knees creaking but everything bending the wa(more)