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Your wealthy Uncle Bert has died and left you all of his money. At first you’re excited, as you’ve been living paycheck-to-paycheck your whole life, and this newfound money offers you endless possibilities. But, in his will, Uncle Bert left one big catch—and, if you don’t do it, all of the money is to be given to his unlikable friend, Fred. What is the catch? Do you do it? What happens next? Write in any genre and be creative.
Cover image for post BFFs, by AmandaCary
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AmandaCary
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BFFs

I suppose it could be worse. I mean, I never imagined living with him at all, much less attempting to bathe with him sitting in the corner, but I guess the fact that he's dead makes it a little easier to handle. Still, I've made sure to rotate him nose first into the furthest wall from the tub since he decided to have his eyes sewn open. Creepy bastard.

Uncle Bert was always a bit of a prankster - I'll give him that. But this went a bit too far even for his standards. There are people out there - seriously, please listen to what I'm saying here because they do exist - there are people out there who have way too much fucking money and way too much time, and it gets out of hand.

In this case, there's Bert. Bert didn't earn a single dime of his thirty million bucks. No, he was born into it. Silver spoon spoiled, so to speak. My grandfather died and left it all to him, and now it was his turn. In turn, my turn.

He had no kids to torment, thank Christ, and only his high school buddy, Fred - who still eats his boogers and lights his farts on fire - would put up with his idiocy. My mother is twenty years his senior and hated his guts, so I was the only relative suitable to his fortune - I guess.

Bert died young - heart attack most likely caused by copious amounts of bacon and cocaine - and either he wrote his will as some marijuana-induced prank and meant to change it later, or he and Fred figured I wouldn't have the gall to go on with this nonsense. And if I forget to bring him to the potty with me? Well, Fred's watching over the security system, and they have a lawyer just itching to put an end to this little charade, so it's a no can do. Fred gets it all if I don't cadaver-sit 24/7.

Well, dear Uncle, I'm broke as hell, and if wheeling your taxidermied corpse around with me everywhere I go is the best you could come up with, I am truly disappointed in your separation from the outside middle class. If it means Fred keeps his fat Bologna fingers off your cash, and I don't have to work three jobs to pay the rent, then Uncle Bert - say hello to your new best friend.

Now off to the kitchen we go...it's lunch time.

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