That old family joke. Said hundreds of times by one or another of us. Just a flippant, smart-assed remark. A quick comeback. Clever. Witty. Off-handed. Predictable and therefore comfortable. Comforting. The signal of the end of a rant. God, I couldve just killed her. Or him, as the case may be. Or him. Then the comeback, perfectly timed. Two beats, and the other would say, But what would you do with the body? Only this time, no one laughed.