You've just died and your family has reduced your remains to the contents of an Oreck upright! Where do you want to go?
I'm going to Disneyland!
Not content with buying $5 bottles of water and standing in lines so long Disney could market them as Goofy's Bataan Death Adventure, people are choosing the Happiest Place on Earth as just the spot to dump Grandma.
ABC News says it's not true. That's the same ABC News that is Disney's wholly-owned bitch so I'll let you decide how reliable they are.
Other sources say that dusty clumps of leftover loved ones litter the rides, from the Teacups to the Pirates of the Caribbean. But the favorites are The Haunted Mansion, which makes sense if Grandpa had an eerie sense of humor, and It's a Small World, perfect for that overly-friendly uncle because hearing that song for an eternity would be Hell on a scale of evil that would shame the devil.
For this Friday, I want you to assume you're dead. There's no mantle space left for an urn. Where do you want to be scattered?
Talk to me Dead Planeteers. Even if it's from the Carousel of Progress.
8 comments:
In a working field on some farm. It's carbon. I'm done with it. Put it back and save the real estate.
Am I going to mind?
No. Because there are two theories on what happens to you when you die:
Dawkins would have you subscribe to Raymond Chandler's "Big Sleep" idea. If so, I ain't gonna suddenly wake up and say, "Hey! Don't dump my ass in a cornfield! That's not right!" I'm sleeping. Forever. Trust me, you're not going to piss me off.
Others believe there is an afterlife. If so, I'm still dead and won't care what happens to the body because I'm pretty sure there's, like, an orientation and newly dead cocktail mixer. Satan will come out to the damned and explain the exciting benefits of his patented molten lava jacuzzis.
And Buddhists will have you believe you just come back later. OK, I'm done with that body. It's a little old and decrepit. I don't really want it back and don't care what you do with it. I'll just wait for some couple to bump a few uglies to make me a new one, thanks.
Somewhere in West Ireland. County Clare. I love it there-it's beautiful. Only time in my life I've felt so at peace was visiting there. I'm not sure what that says about me though.
And if the bazillions of kids running around weren't enough of a reason for me to avoid Disneyland, thanks for giving me one more. It's bad enough to have to worry about being puked on when riding a rollercoaster, but then getting coated with someone? No thank you.
I want to be blown up.
Failing that, I want my ashes placed in a shallow open container at the south end of Wrightsville Beach, at the edge of Masonboro Inlet, and be allowed to blow away in the wind.
I'll go south of JD to Carolina Inlet. It changes with every tide, and I get bored easily, so I figure the changes will do me a world of good. And besides, no matter how much that inlet changes I can always read that water. Maybe I'll get a glimps of the world's hugest tarpon with a hook tear in the corner of it's mouth, where late one August evening... That's another story.
I've always wanted a burial at sea. Don't even gotta burn me to ashes first. Just dump my body in the ocean and let the sea creatures feed on my corpse. Good way to re-enter the food chain.
But please attach some weights to my corpse, or at least make sure you're far enough from shore. I wouldn't want pieces floating ashore and scaring some kid on a beach somewhere.
Pack my ashes up in a knapsack and sling me across the back of the Amilee/Travelocity gnome. The eternal haunt of never resting in one place.
Cremate me, mix the ashes with enough cobalt blue to paint an early '50's Hudson Hornet and... at that point there were various "what next?" options through the years. In the early '80's it was to add it to the end of the row at the Cadillac Ranch.
Now I suppose Dave could drive it through Disney World as fast as possible and hopefully take down as many of the human critters that he can.
Just get that Rhoades fellow to drag it through the courts until senility sets in.
I want my ashes to be made into an ass-skin rejuvenating product.
I want that product to be given to Charlize Theron.
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