or, at least he could when he was alive.

He died last summer...73 and had been battling Alzheimer's for 5 years. He had a good long run and had done his thing. An airplane mechanic in WWII, he worked on Doolittle's B-25 after it came back. Married, widowed, married again. A good life, I think.

anyway, had to return home for another death in the family recently and as usual we had a good old Irish wake and lots of stories were told and retold as a couple of gallons of Bushmills and Jameson's were consumed.

I heard one about my grandfather that is too good not to pass on.

A little background first:

We lived with my grandparents when I was 5-8. Every Sunday morning we would all get up and do our thing and go to church. I remember every time I had to go in to the bathroom after my grandfather there would be a terrible stench. The obvious reason comes to mind and to this day I've always thought it was that.

No so.

My grandfather was a pretty hairy guy. In fact, his first name was Harry.

My uncle told this story that the old man used to take lighter fuel and rub it on his chest and back and then take his Zippo and burn the hair off of his chest and back.

That's pretty effing hard.