Ol' Pap Bupkis.

Haven't thought of him in years. Lived down the street in a tarpaper shack, grew his own vegetables, and shot squirrels with a slingshot for meat. Had the last cistern and outhouse in the neighborhood. Played the banjcordion, an awful thing he invented himself, half banjo and half accordion.

He used to sit out on his front stoop each autumn and play the thing, just so he'd get arrested and have a nice warm place during the winter. The judges used to sentence criminals to 90 days in the lockup, where they were forced to listen to Ol' Pap play that thing. ACLU finally got 'em to stop, except for people like serial murderers, father rapers, and other ne'er do wells like those.

Yeah, Ol' Pap Bupkis. Offered to whittle us a banjcordion just so we could annoy our parents.

Anyway, yeah, I knew Bupkis. He must either be dead or going on 170 years old by now. He was old when I knew him, but he could still crack walnuts with his teeth. 'Course, the walnuts cracked the teeth right back, but Ol' Pap didn't mind, 'cause he had a deal with the funeral home. He musta been over a hundred when I knew him, but he could still grab himself by the hair and hold himself out at arm's length.

Yeah, I knew Bupkis.