Sunday, December 4, 2011


Lots of times, when you're at a funeral, you hear things like "So and so wouldn't have wanted us to be sad and cry. So and so would have wanted us to celebrate her life and be happy". Well I am saying now, for the record, that at my funeral, I do not want you to celebrate my life. That's what birthdays are for. At my funeral I want you to mourn my death. Because that's what funerals are for. And you should be said if I'm dead. I'm a delight.

That being said, I am in no way opposed to the insertion of dark humor into the proceedings. Dark humor is the best and most healthy way to grieve.

For instance, I would really like it if, in secret, one of you hired 20 or 30 Yakuza members (or at least tatted up Japanese dudes who look like they could be Yakuza) to attend my funeral. They should all be wearing sunglasses, and they should speak to no one. Then they should simply leave when the service is over. You can substitute Crips, the Mafia, or any other criminal organization. Let your imagingation run wild!

Another thing I would like, is if someone places my body in a booth at the Pei Wei. As you know, the Pei Wei is the most disgusting restaurant in the world, ever. I like to think that my dead body would discourage people from patronizing their establishment. Especially if you smear some of their "food" over my face and body, making it look like the food is what killed me.

Also, Phil needs to get up at the funeral and sing "Wind Beneath My Wings". Really badly. And it will be the most awkward thing in the world for all assembled because 1)his singing will be horrible, and 2)Phil is NOT the type to sing in front of a large crowd, alone. Plus, as the griving widower, he gets to do whatever he wants. So NO ONE will allow themselves to laugh.
Even though it will be hilarious.

***Side note*** You may wonder why I assume Phil will outlive me. Here's why. I operate on a very high level of stress. And I spent the first 22 years of my life eating garbage and not exercising. Phil is the epitome of enlightenment and glowing emotional health. For instance, you know how sometimes when you park your car, people come put fliers and business cards under your windshield? Those make me angry. I pull them off and throw them on the ground, because it's not my mess, and I'm not cleaning it. Then I immediately add the company being advertised to my Book Of Hate, and resolve to never patronize their establishment. Phillip, on the other hand, calmly takes the flier and places it in the nearest trash receptacle. He doesn't get angry. Not only does he neglect to put the company in his Book Of Hate, HE DOESN'T EVEN HAVE A BOOK OF HATE. That's how I know he'll outlive me. That kind of enlightenment and calm will ensure that he lives forever, like Methusala or one of those Buddhist monks in the Tibetan mountains. *****

Really the sky is the limit, as far as pranks go. I honestly don't care what happens to my body after I'm done using it. Donate it to a necrophiliac. Or to drug runners in Mexico so they can smuggle drugs in my cavities. Or someone who has always been curious about cannibalism, but doesn't have the courage or sociopathic tendencies required to obtain human meat. I truly don't care. At all.

I remember a few years back, there was a cremator guy who got arrested for fraud or something like that. His cremation machine broke, and rather than fix it, the guy just buried the bodies in his back yard. And people's families LOST THEIR MINDS. They were all like "How could he do this? Waaaah! I'm so angry and upset and horrified!". I don't understand that at all. Yes, I guess you didn't get what you paid for. But your loved one is no less dead cremated than buried. The body was disposed of, which is really the point, right? I guess it would be weird to know that the urn you have is filled with regular ashes and not Grandma ashes, but as long as you got to have a funeral and grieve and let the healing process begin, what do you care if she was buried instead of cremated? The cremator guy got life in prison for this.

My only request is that before dealing with my body, you MAKE SURE I'm dead before you dispose of me. I have a morbid fear of being buried alive, you see. So play a bunch of pranks with me for a few days. Use me for target practice. Throw me in a swimming pool for 3 days with weights on my feet. Do whatever you have to do, but you must be certain I'm dead before you do the final disposal.

For this reason, I prefer to be cremated, which will most certainly assure my death. But if I am buried, for whatever reason, and you didn't keep my body out for a few days to make sure it's dead, make sure that you put an Edgar Allen Poe style bell in my grave, with my hands resting on the lever, so in case I wake up I can notify you.