But who said mortality had to be so goddamn boring?
This is mind-numbing. Do a flip or something. Dang.
Most funeral services are morbid, somber, serene affairs that are directly at odds with most human beings, who are ridiculous, flailing jesters, pratfalling their way through life. Sure, there are Irish Wakes and Jazz Funerals, but even these have an air of respect and solemnity about them. What if you were never respectful or solemn at any point in your entire life? I say it's time to put the "fun" back in 'funeral' and the 'felony' back in "the cemetery."
What's that? There's no "felony" in "the cemetery"?
Well not yet, silly, we're only just getting started!
Why do we put our corpses in hearses? Do the dead need the leg room? Is there some implied dignity to sleeping in a station wagon? That's certainly news to all the recently divorced step-fathers waking up in Wal-mart parking lots across America right now. Besides, as a semi-professional burnout who only vaguely understands the concept of rent, I've spent more time in the backseat of a Taurus than a gay Virgo. Suddenly it's too good for me in death?
Don't heap the dignity on me in death that I never possessed in life; if you're going to do anything, pile all the awesome on me in death that I was too fiscally irresponsible to afford when I was still sucking breath. If I need a special car to commute to the pile of dirt you're going to throw my corpse in, then I ask that you huck it in the backseat of a '68 Charger, not the shameful bastard offspring of a Caddy and a Vanagon.
The funeral procession can stay, though. Just know that every member of it is obliged to haul ass the entire time. No twenty mile an hour pileup that ruins traffic for everybody else, please. I hated getting stuck behind those while I was living, I certainly don't want to be the cause of them now that I'm not. The last thing I want is an obnoxious 20 year-old cursing my desiccated husk for making them late to their job at Pizza Hut again. I can't have that bad mojo following me onto the Bridge of Judgment (I'm gonna have a hard enough time dive-tackling the Crone of the Scales to break into heaven in the first place; I can't be tripping over no pizza boy juju while I'm doing it.)
No, for my funeral procession, every single attendee should struggle to keep up as my trained stunt-driver drifts around corners, handbrake turns down jackknifes, and occasionally ramps conveniently placed ramp-trucks (note: please conveniently place ramp trucks around the procession route before it starts).
Do you want phonies at your funeral? Hell no! People should earn the right to mourn you, and what says "I really cared about your life" more profoundly than having to win the car chase from Bullitt just to attend the last party you throw?
Most epitaphs proclaim nothing more than a series of generic nouns about the person interred: Father, brother, loyal subscriber to Newsweek. Mother, wife, beloved bake sale enthusiast. Son, friend, and accomplished Pokemaster. I can think of nothing more insulting and lazy than just slapping up a game of mundane madlibs on the eternal resting place of something as fascinating, complicated, beautiful and disastrous as a human being.
"Bill Lumberg. Typing. 69. We done here?"
You should all be picking the words you want engraved on your tombstone right now, before it's too late. If you're struggling, I find you can assemble a variety of badass odes to your own delusional greatness with phrases like "friend to tigers," "laser battle," "fistgod" or the always applicable "fuckmaster." I've obviously given this a lot of thought, and I feel the words that most define my life philosophy would have to be the opening monologue from the A-Team. But, y'know, inscribe that shit in Latin, so as to appear all dignified and mysterious, like so:
"Est sutharos ef militantae, est mithos en A-Team ..."
Only please substitute all of those words with actual, real Latin, as the phrase above is pure gibberish.
Oh, and for the love of God, pick a decent font. I'm not spending eternity rotting beneath some Times New Roman, you sons of bitches. At least spring for some Cambria or, if that's not in the budget, a nice Verdana.