Sunday, July 01, 2007
I'm getting cremated. I'm putting it on record in the blogosphere -- don't bother burying my dead ass, just burn it. And I don't care where the ashes go, 'cause I'll be DEAD. I'm mentioning all this because "what happens to you after you die" is the big questiona ll spritualities must answer, and I'm not waiting for the answer to come to me when I die. I'm telling you now. Snap, crackle, pop me.
When you are cremated, there is less for your grieving family to have to do. I always like to think of other people, even when dead. And, by not using a burial plot, six feet of good fertile ground is spared. We're overpoulated enough with the living as it is without getting crowded out by the dead.
And, most importantly, after being cremated, I will not have a tombstone. Why is that important? Because no one will be able to write my epitaph. No one should write my epitaph but me. And quite frankly, since it's not a paying writing gig, I'm not interested in taking the assignment.
The best spitaph ever written was the one Spike Milligan did for himself. The one for Buffy The Vampire Slayer was pretty good, too.
If certain people ever wrote my epitaph, it would probably go something like this:
*My brother: "She Didn't Like David Tennant"
* My ex, Mitch: "Couldn't happen to a better person."
* My other ex, Dave: "Huh? What?"
* My dog, Pony: "Bones? What bones?"
* Stephen King: "To Be Continued...Mmmwooo hoo haa haa!!!"
* Peter Gabriel: "Obligatory PG Link Here"