No, I’m not sick, hit my head, or popping pharmaceutical psychedelics. I’m listening to podcasts.
My uncle wanted "poor Judd is dead" played at his funeral. I never saw him without his telling me a joke. He gave me joke books and made sure I knew that laughter was the heart of life. When is was time for his funeral, I sent flowers with "poor Judd is dead" on the card. No one said anything, but I'm hoping his wife smiled at the memory of his discussions of his funeral. She still loved me after it so I think she understood. I miss him still, but his joy is with me every day.