(After fetching Gramma's mail):
Me: You got another funeral home ad.
Gramma: Again? I got 3 yesterday! Soon they'll be sending a loaded rifle and asking me to f***ing shoot myself!
Me: I don't want to become an astronaut, because if something goes wrong, I'll be stuck in the middle of nowhere with no help.
Mom: Don't worry about that! If you get hurt in space, you'll just die!
Stepdad: When I die, have me cremated. Then, put my ashes in the compost.
Me: Why would we put you in the compost?
Stepdad: So you can put it on the vegetables and eat me!
Mom: No! I'm not eating you! Not when you're dead anyway.
(Recently after my grandfather's funeral.)
Family friend: I heard you buried your father.
Dad: Had to. Dead, you know?
(We were listening to the radio on the way to school, and a report came on saying how some old people ate brownies with pot.)
Me (referring to that 70's show): Haha magic brownies...
Mom: We could use those to send grandma to the other side...
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