27 and the Death of the Empire

I’ve been thinking a lot about death lately, not in that all encompassing way, but in a more personal way. I’ve been considering my own death recently.

Now, nobody panic. I’ve got no major health problems that I’m aware of, no enemies that hate me enough to want me dead, no immediately dangerous addictions (but I’m working on it ;), and suicide is NO option for an egomaniac like me. Myself. I. The Empire. So, I’m not planning on snuffing it anytime soon, but I do live next to a college campus and I do drive fairly recklessly. So I’d like to take this time to announce to the world how I’d like my funeral to be arranged.

To keep things light, however, I would like for this blog to be read to the soundtrack of this dancing banana.



Let’s start with my thoughts on death.

I’ve been lucky to have never been afraid of death. I’m afraid of the process by which it might happen…but never afraid of the nonexistence which comes with death.

Example:

I would be afraid if Buffalo Bill had me trapped in a hole in his basement, rubbing lotion on my skin because he was about to remove it and make a suit out of me.

That’s scary because skin removal and being custom tailored can’t be a pleasant thing!

I wouldn’t be afraid of the chair, or nuclear war, or having a heart attack whilst bedding my 18 year old super-model girlfriend in the back of a 1970 Chevelle SS…in fact I think I’d like my obituary to say just that.

If any 18 year old super-models out there own a 1970 Chevelle SS and are interested in helping an old man fulfill his last wish, just contact me via Myspace’s wonderful messaging system.

I digress.

The banana’s probably done singing by now, so try this while I continue.



I don’t see death as a big sacred thing. Everyone treats death like it’s SO special. How can death be special? EVERYTHING dies! Not just everyone, but everything. Flowers, fungus, badgers, bees, bacteria, Elvis, roaches, dinosaurs, mold, doggies, kitties, ponies, ferrets, King Kong, and best of all, Humans, will all die with the only exception being Keith Richards.

If you own a t-shirt, then it is more sacred than death because you will have experienced something that most living things never will, the cottony heaven that is t-shirt ownership.

That being said, I hope that my last wishes will be carried out with the understanding that death never really meant that much to me and if you ever cared you’ll see that these wishes are carried out.

First off, I want everything that can be donated to be donated. Give my pigtails to locks for love (If my hair hasn’t fallen out by then…who am I kiddin…that’ll NEVER happen) give my viable organs to those that need them, with the exception of my eyes and stomach, which I wouldn’t wish on ANYONE, ditto with blood and other fluids.

*Chuckle*

Fluids.

Hell, if someone wants a saddle with a neato gun pattern tattoo then stitch it up! I’ll be dead and won’t care. The key here is donation. Give my teeth to witch doctors, give my scrotum to someone that needs a REALLY big coin purse, and make sure my bones become one of those swell stand-up skeletons in a biology class somewhere. You’ll know it’s me by the steel plate and the enormous feet.

Come to class and pay your respects.

No matter what make sure that as much of me as possible goes to help in ANY WAY someone that’s still here and needs something that I have no use for any more.

Time to lighten things up again.



That being said, I’ve done my research, and know that science will either not use all of me, maybe none of me if I’m too old so that brings me to round 2.
Cremation.

Ashes to ashes and all that jazz.

Cremation is the best way! It’s cheaper and more environmentally friendly than being entombed like some kind of pharaoh in a concrete vault whilst you slowly turn to sludge in your J.C. Penny’s suit.

Maybe that’s just me.

Beware however! I wanted to be a mortician for a LONG time and changed my mind when I discovered how crooked the industry is. So, here’s the instructions to help avoid the high prices that might be incurred upon my demise.

No embalming. Yes, they still try to talk you into embalming even when you’re going to be oven roasted. No thank you, I’ll go with all my standard issue fluids if you please.

*Chuckle*

Fluids.

No clothes or prepping. They usually try to talk you into cosmetics and fancy clothes before you hit the furnace.

This.

Is.

Stupid.

Throw my ugly naked carcass on the slab and run me through! I don’t want any polyester or eyeliner mixed up with my dusty ass anyway.

No casket. In the biggest “what the hell” of them all, they also try to get you to buy a casket to burn with you.

I’d make a joke here, BUT IT ISN’T F’N FUNNY!

In your moment of grief you get talked into spending THOUSANDS on a box to be melted with your sorry butt.

No thank you.

I don’t need it and my loved ones SURELY don’t need it. Don’t even let them talk you into the cardboard box for the incinerator, which usually bears a price tag of $600.

For a cardboard box.

Yeah.

Oh, and they also charge around $300 for a “transportation vessel” to carry your ashes from the crematorium to your house which is also…another cardboard box. So, when talking to the morticians be sure to bring an industrial trash bag and a large Tupperware container. By law, they HAVE to use it. It’ll save you enough money to buy a Wii. Which I’d much rather you do than drop 3 bills on a cardboard box.



That always cracks me up!

Anyway.

That takes care of everything except what to do with the ashes.

I really don’t know…I would LOVE to be put in the A/C of my brother’s car so that I will get the last laugh in this ongoing car feud that we have going, but I doubt that anyone one will have the balls to do that.

*cough*cough* Kellye Wayne *cough*cough*

I don’t really want them spread anywhere because I was never that fond of the “Not-Indoors-Place” but I don’t want to be sitting on a shelf somewhere either. Maybe just slowly smuggle me into several movie theaters. They never clean those places and my loved ones will feel like they can watch a movie with me whenever they like, yeah…that sounds nice.

High-five!

As for memorials or whatnot, that’s more for my friends and family than for me. It’s a way to get closure on what will surely be the monumentally life-numbing tragedy that is my death. So, do whatever you like! Have a skating party for all I care. I won’t be around to witness it so do whatever it is that will satisfy the mourning and then continue on your merry way with the pocket-full of cash that I saved you on my passing. Just make sure that the typical southern thing is done and make LOTS of food and bring it to my Wife/Momma/Sister/Brother, whoever is most appropriate at the time. Lots of fried chicken, that’s my favorite funeral food.

Man is I hungry.
I’m honestly not saying all these things to be humble or elitist or smug or anything like that. My idea of a successful life is in my memory. If I lived the way I wanted to live, then after I die, the mention of my name will make people remember more fond things about me than horrible things. I want to be missed, don’t get me wrong, but I want those tears to fall from smiling faces as they say, “Remember when he got naked and jumped in the pool during the tornado?” or, “Remember when he went to the hospital and the Doctor gave him a prostate exam?” or “Remember how he threw things when he laughed” or “Remember when he tried to steal the Star Wars Toy from that kid in Burger King?” or “Remember how he hated Xmas?” That’s what’ll mean the most to me. The hope that I can live my life knowing that I’ve made a few other lives better by knowing me.

I think I’m doing ok so far. I certainly am trying.

Well, I think that about wraps this up! Thanks for reading and if something horrible like a piano falling on me happens, just follow these instructions and I will surely rest in peace with the knowledge that you have done right by me…now lets see that damn laughing baby one more time!



-G