Rota? Seriously?

"Ro...ta...", he said, in a tired, wheezing voice.

"Rota?" repeated his family. "What...what does that even mean?" They whispered among themselves, trying to figure out what their ailing grandfather could possibly have meant. They had been hoping he would explain his last wishes as they stood by his side; he had left them no will to divide his estate. But his young wife was sitting at his side, holding his hand, and refused to let them stress grandfather out too much. As if it weren't obvious grandfather was too unhealthy to speak. Still, if he died without a will, his nutjob wife would keep the good stuff, and give the rest of it away to charity.

"Ro...rota," he said, closing his eyes. Grandfather took one last breath, and then died.

"What does that even mean?" shrieked Cousin Mel, who had been hoping for enough money to move out of her poor excuse of an apartment. "I haven't even heard of that before!"

"It's an island in Spain," said Uncle Luiz. "He obviously meant that I, as the only Spaniard in the room, should get his inheritence."

"Bull!" replied Aunt Martha. "Rota is the word for 'wheel' in Latin. He means to award me for my Classical Studies by giving me his inheritence. You know how much he loved collecting priceless ancient artifacts."

"Shove it, both of you!" replied his butler. "'Rota' is the term he used to describe our time schedules. He obviously intends to give his inheritence to his faithful staff. The whole lot of you never bothered to give him so much as a postcard! A sorry excuse for family, the whole lot of you!"

They continued arguing for some time, before his wife, who had been at his side sobbing the entire time, asked them all to leave. She was so genuinely distraught that they all left, feeling slightly guilty.

That night, they all developed a severe case of diarrhea, due to the rotavirus.