This is my mother's younger brother, my Uncle G. A funny exchange happened while we were all assembled at Grandma's and going through the pictures.

Uncle G brought up the subject of pall bearers for Grandma's casket, and Uncle F got very concerned because he never even thought about it. Now, he didn't *have* to think about it, because it was a graveside service - so no pall bearers. But Uncle F wasn't thinking clearly. So they started going through the male family members to figure out who they could enlist for the task.

"Well," says Uncle F, "there's you, and me, and Susan's husband..."
"That'll make it kinda lopsided, don't you think?" asked Uncle G. We all shot him a look.
"I'm sure Mr. Marshall would do it, too..." my Uncle F continued.
"How about asking Jimmy?" suggested Uncle G. Evilly.
Uncle Jim is in his seventies. And has MS. And is in a wheelchair. And had his legs amputated.
"G," says my fantastic sister, "you really are an asshole."
And my Uncle F, who is very big on Respect with a capital R, growled at her "Don't you call your uncle an asshole."
Even though he is one. Such is my family. *I* thought Susan was funny.