How I Meted Your Mother

Kids, after all that, I figure it’s only fair of me to tell you, in detail, how I ultimately disposed of your mother’s organs and other body parts. I’d hate for you to think I just tossed her corpse into a ditch....

I donated her brain to science. No, Scientology! They do experiments, too.

I gave her left eye to a blind man named Joe and her right eye to a professional competitive marbles player, also named Joe. Both were exceptionally grateful.

Your mother’s heart will always belong to me, but I have loaned it long-term to the Illinois Railway Museum.

Her lungs are in a hatbox on a shelf in the garage.

I’m using her appendix as a bookmark, because the idea of it just cracks me up every time I get into bed to read.

Her bladder was the shell of the piñata at one of your birthday parties.

I sold her large intestine to a sailing enthusiast.

A small intestine makes a serviceable belt.

Your mother’s kidneys are now the property of Citibank.

Do you have any idea how difficult it is to repurpose a pancreas? I hope you never have to find out.

I filled her stomach with helium and let it float up to heaven, although I think it got snagged on a tree branch, where a cat found it.

I gave her spleen to a trick-or-treater. Just this past Halloween, actually.

By the time I was able to stop saying, “Gallbladder. Gallbladder,” I had misplaced your mother’s.

Her liver escheated to the state.

I drilled finger holes in her trachea and varnished it. Can either of you play that thing?

I made earrings out of her ears.

I unloaded her nose on Craigslist as an aftermarket dashboard accessory for a 1998 Camry.

The money I got from an otherwise anonymous boy scout troop leader for her skull and a promise not to ask any questions is putting you both through college.

Her hair will make wigs for children with cancer, and her skin will make one sick kid a pup tent.

Over my strenuous objections, your mother’s tongue hitchhiked to Seattle.

I ground up most of her bones into a fine powder, which I then mailed to the White House as a sort of silent protest.

I planted her fingernails in the yard, but I just threw out her toes. Please don’t judge me.

Matthew David Brozik wrote this and many other short humor pieces, which have been published in print and online by The New Yorker, Adult Swim, McSweeney’s Internet Tendency, Grin & Tonic, The Big Jewel, and no one.

Read more humor here. Or read some fiction here.