The Last Will and Testament of [redacted]

I. Dissemination of my worldly belongings:
What possessions I have should be piled up in the middle of a field a la the Cornucopia scene in The Hunger Games (AKA: Caucasian Battle Royale light). Those interested will have to race to the items at the sound of the starting gun. There are no rules – remember, this is a bloodsport.

II. Disposal of my body:
I want to be cremated. The funeral industry is there to take advantage of people in an emotionally desperate time. The body after death is a mass of dying cells. While you may have loved certain things about a person’s body, what you really love is what animated them and that animation is gone. Whatever you believe about their spark, their personality, their spirit, etc. – none of that is there in the casket and if we honored every vessel for what it once contained, the recycling industry would completely fall apart. Move on.

III. The funeral/wake:
A. I originally wanted my urn (please at least white out over the Folger’s label) to be brought in and put in some sort of Rube Goldberg contraption but seriously, who has the time for that? I want to my urn to be wheeled in on a cart by some babe in latex.  Metallica’s “For Whom The Bells Tolls” should be blaring loudly and my urn should be ON FUCKING FIRE (further pyrotechnics optional).
B. Next should be a alphabetical reading of my character flaws in unison. If anyone gets out of sync, they should be glared at.
C. After this comes the dance-off. This should be done a la Soul Train with people making a ‘hallway’ to dance through. The people dancing through can do whatever they want but I’m pretty adamant about the people forming ‘the hall’ doing The Robot. I’ll haunt those not complying with this modest request. Music? I’m thinking the extended version of New Order – Bizarre Love Triangle (extended dance mix) or possible Underworld – Born Slippy Nuxx (live version – Pinkpop / 1999). People can vote.
D. Those who know me best should come up front at this time and recount my life failures and most embarrassing moments.
E. Geoff Muldaur‘s Brazil should start playing while my urn should rise up reverse Deus Ex Machina style. I really want to be shot into the sun but if you can just fire my Folger’s can out of a mortar at an institution I disagree with, that will be fine.
F. The next 10 seconds should be spent in contemplation (at how much damage my ‘urn’ did to the McDonald’s down the street). This should be followed by drinking, streaking, reciting unacceptably filthy limericks at Poetry Slams, fist fights with the willfully ignorant and riding animals that don’t belong to you.



One comment on “The Last Will and Testament of [redacted]

  1. treegestalt says:

    My best friend in high school just wanted to be quick-frozen, dropped off the edge of the table, fed to his pet rats.

    My mother-in-law got to go onstage, playing — a jar of somebody’s ashes. (She would have loved it!)

    My father? I drove him home, kept a candle going in case he wanted to drop in for goodbyes, took him to the dock where he’d met my mother (where he’d dumped her previous corporal real-estate into the Bay a few years before.) What had been him & what had been her, on a physical level, should by now be mingled with a lot of other yucky things on their way down the coast to maybe Chile.

    Some of us who remembered him held a small Quaker memorial (much like the Recital of the Faults you suggest above, as people are moved to speak) and yes, I don’t think that what lived as him really cared about those leftovers — but they served as a focal point, for awhile.

    I had a friend once, said he’d been embalmed by the Egyptians, in a past life. Was a bitch waiting for that stuff to decay so he could do something else…

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