When I was in high school I was in a rock band. We played cover songs mostly. We didn’t have a name because we
couldn’t ever settle on one. Every time we tried to come up with something the discussion would quickly degenerate into each of us trying to one up each other on the most ridiculous name we could think of.
“Let’s call ourselves the Anus Lovers,” said Kirt.
“How about the Monkey Fuckers?” added Mike.
There were four of us in the band:Kirt, Mike, Gavin, and me.
Kirt and Mike are dead now. Mike died first, then Kirt. 
They both died from drugs, though in different ways. I never really thought drugs were a problem but since I have two friends who died from them maybe I‘m wrong.
At Kirt’s funeral I said to Gavin, “This is the part of our band’s VH-1 Behind the Music documentary where you and I reunite and take the band out on the road again as a tribute to our dead friends. We rise like a phoenix from the ashes of our despair.”
Gavin laughed. Kirt was his older brother but it was still funny to him.