Something like that seemed to have happened to Uncle Ed.

Uncle Ed was a shadow of his former self; I doubt he was much over five hundred pounds.

When his father had mentioned Uncle Ed at all, he said he was in retirement.

"Uncle Ed, I really need someone to talk to."

Uncle Ed could barely speak without making a raspberry.

"Good luck," Uncle Ed burbled, his head sinking beneath the water.

Even the new Uncle Ed, a shadow of his former self, would not fit into any of the chairs around the table.

"These boys would be asked to tell their friends about Uncle Ed and ask them to do similar activities for pay."

Uncle Ed was right; vice required training and long practice otherwise for pragmatic reasons virtue should rule even when moral instruction has ceased to bind.