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It has always been my desire to be cremated when that long dirt nap comes about. Of course, I want them to make damn sure that I'm well and truly dead, and not just stalling for time before they reduce me to ashes.
Certain matters have made it prudent to plan ahead. And so I've already purchased my final resting place in my hometown in Arizona. I've even settled on an epitaph: "May I be led from darkness to light, from the unreal to the real, from death to immortality." It's more of a wish than a statement of fact. At one time there would have been no question in my mind. Now, I'm not so sure. . .but, that's best left for another discussion.
I want to be cremated, thrown in the chili at the wake. That way everyone can have a little taste of me when I'm dead and gone. But before they do that I want them to cut my pecker off, toss it in there first.
Six words you don't want to hear at a wake: "There's a dick in the chili."
I always thought I'd like to be liquified, purified, homogenized and placed into a douche, then run me through some hot girl's vagina for one last go.
But that would be expensive, and my family would get me a nasty one as a last trick. Can't trust them bastards, no how.
But now I want to be buried in a plain pine box like the orthodox jews get, fertilize the hell out of the ground above me and plant an apple tree there. That way my body can provide nutrients for the tree, and when it produces apples I want them shipped free all over the country so everyone can fucking eat me.
Cremation, 1/2 of the ashes mixed in with a fireworks shell, during my wake at 12:00 shoot me out of a mortar...everyone can go "Ohhhh...Aaaaaaaahhhh" one more time for me. (grin)
The other 1/2, well...there is a redwood grove in Big Basin State Park that my wife knows about...it's well off of any trail, but that's where I want the rest scattered.
Psalms 90:3. You turn man back into dust
And say, "Return, O children of men."
Once my body's been harvested for whatever organs they can scoop from me (I envision a large melonballer-like device), I want my shit to be cremated and scattered off the top of the Sandias and have the winds scatter me across the firmament.
No wait. I want to be fermented and brewed into a foul-smelling, cheap brand of beer, then stewed with asparagus and fish heads. Then I want to be fed to the nastiest, most obscenely disgusting homeless bum that can be safely located.
Then, in about three hours or whenever nature calls, I want the nasty homeless guy to be led to Grammour Boy's gravesite...