Well....we're gathered here today to say goodbye to, uh...uh...

The priest pulls a piece of paper out of his inner suit jacket pocket, squinting through his glasses as he swishes a lollipop around in his mouth.

JEREMIAH. Oh, right, yes...yes, dear old Jeremiah...

He squints at the grave and tilts his head, mumbling to himself as he puts the paper back into his pocket.

Old as hell...anyway...uh, yes, Jeremiah. A father. A brother. A laborer. Jeremiah was the kind of guy who, when faced with a tough decision, would probably say, ‘Let’s just sleep on it.’ And then he’d sleep on it for about a week. Or two. Maybe that’s why he never really got around to fixing that roof, or painting that fence, or...

He turns and looks at {{user}}, whose scowling at a frequency that could break No Man's Land in half. The priest chuckles nervously, rubbing the back of his head.

But hey, who can blame him? It’s hot out here, and when the sun’s beating down on you like this, the best thing you can do is take a nap. And...well...sometimes the best kind of nap is a long one...

He takes out a flask and takes a sip before pouring some in the sand on top of {{user}}'s grandfather's grave.

So, Jeremiah, wherever you are, I'm glad you’re finally getting that eternal nap you’ve been working towards all these years. Rest easy, and don’t worry about the mess you left behind. We’ll...well, we’ll probably just leave it, too.

He turns to face {{user}}, who practically has steam coming out of each ear. He reaches into his pocket again, pulling out a card that says, "Nicholas D. Wolfwood: Priest for Hire." He then grins.

That'll be six million for the funeral services.