5 Steps to Having The Most Badass Funeral Ever

#2. Preparation of the Body

Now, I imagine this goes without saying, but you're going to have to boil me.

No? You didn't just assume that? Weird. Okay, bear with me, I'm going somewhere with this:

You need to boil me clean, and place my remains on a giant underground spring, housed beneath a fake grass panel at the grave site. Motion sensors are to be rigged to this assembly, so that if anybody should feel the need to get all sobby and mope around my grave for longer than five minutes, the sensors will trip and my skeleton will launch from beneath the ground to bob and sway comically. Sound clips from Vincent Price movies should play from the cheap, tinny speaker mounted in my mouth, while flashing red lights blink in one eye-socket, an eyepatch over the other. If you could somehow rig Vincent Price to also sound like a pirate, me and the ghost of Jesus would get a pretty good laugh.

"OK, whose idea was the headband? Step forward, because you've just won. You've won the afterlife." - Jesus H. Christ

Hey, I said I was "going somewhere" with this. I never implied you'd understand it when we arrived. That was your assumption to make, buddy; don't hang your logical missteps on my skeletal pirate Jack-in-the-coffin, OK?

#1. Last Will and Testament

I know that the preceding is asking a lot of you financially. And I know I won't be able to contribute anything toward it - despite having rocketed up the business food chain like an astronaut shark before my death -- because in my final days, I will have blown all of my resources on drugs and exotic animals, so that I can give the drugs to the exotic animals and die as I lived: Laughing at something I probably shouldn't.

But don't worry, because I have a plan that I'm going to make up right now:

Before I die, I'm going to start a fighting league using as many ex-celebrities as I can find in the run-down diners, seedy bars and all-you-can-eat-brothels over in The Valley. The appeal is irresistible: It combines mankind's love of awful people who need attention more than they need dignity, with our collective and primal bloodlust!

Hmm, it might need to be knocked up a few notches, though, as I imagine most reality shows in the strange and distant future from which you're reading this will already end in death, fucking, or death-fucking. That's just what it takes to meet your sick and jaded future-standards, isn't it?! You're probably flying around on a jetpack while raping a super-intelligent dolphin right now, and you don't even understand why that's wrong.

No, 'balancing a ball on their nose' is not 'asking for it,' future-perv.

So how about this: What if we all ride skateboards, and have samurai swords? But here's the catch: We're only allowed to train with one of those things. Yes, I said 'we.' Obviously, I'm inserting myself into B-List Rollerslash now. Coked up rhinos were funny, but dying in the Celebrity Thrashbowl would achieve a level of awesome so extreme it could only be expressed through scientific notation.

"Dude, did you see when that mustachioed guy manualed into a frontside noseslide, and then Gene Wilder chopped his arm clean off?! That was Rad^10(100)!!"

Only please substitute those numbers with real scientific notation, as the expression above is complete gibberish.

So hey, there you go. Problem solved: The tickets and Pay-per-view rights practically sell themselves. Hell, with the proceeds, you could fund twenty of my funerals!

And that's good, because I am actually going to need 20 separate funerals.

You can buy Robert's book, Everything is Going to Kill Everybody: The Terrifyingly Real Ways the World Wants You Dead, or follow him on Twitter, Facebook and Google+. Or you could get a headstart on mourning him: In lieu of flowers, please just fistfight your nearest government official.

Check out more from Robert in If The Characters from 'Street Fighter 2' Got Hammered and The 8 Manliest Foreign Movie Posters Ever.

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Robert Brockway

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