I may have told you this before but if I die I don’t want to be buried. I don’t want to be burnt. I don’t want to be dumped into the ocean. I don’t want to become part of some Uni student’s anatomy class where the students gather round and say “Wow look at this mans humungous penis.” No I think I’d rather my penis and I be immortalised forever. And for that specific reason, I want to be stuffed.
The thought of being burned and turned into nothing more than a small pile of dust and teeth that is ultimately forced into an ugly vase that sits atop a mantle piece next to antiques that I never appreciated in life, and will most certainly not appreciate in death has never really sounded appealing to me. Likewise being Shakespeare’s worm food has always sounded equally repulsive. I want the glory of my face and body to live on for generations to come. Hopefully one day my body will be considered sacred and people will travel from all over the world just to touch and caress my now leathery skin. Sick and crippled people will cue for weeks just for a glimpse of my stuffed cadaver in the hope I will bless them with my soulful lifeless peepers. Of course we’ll have to charge these pilgrims a nominal fee in order for me body to be preserved. I admit I am no expert on the matter and haven’t actually even bothered looking into it, but I assume that maintaining a dead body is a costly exercise. In any case nominal fee yes but please no ‘Dead Dave’ themed merchandise.
Now I don’t wont to be embalmed and stuffed in a regular fashion and presented in a glass cabinet lying down, oh no. I want to be embalmed, stuffed and them sewn to a lounge chair in an upright sitting position. I hope I die happy because when I imagine myself stuffed and sitting in that chair I imagine a massive smile on my face that greets onlookers and passers by with a look of joy.
At my funeral I must insist that my body after the stuffing, embalming and sewing be lowered from the roof slowly while extremely loud and slow organ music is played out of respect as a tribute to my god like status. I must stress that none of my life be celebrated in a church. Perhaps it would be possible to close down and hire out an entire amusement park for the day? I would like to be wearing clothing that is appropriate to the weather and if I am rich when I die I would like part of my estate to pay a man a steady wage to change the clothing on my body twice a day, once at night to get into my pyjamas and then once every morning to dress me in completely fresh clothes. This man is forbidden from having a family and moonlighting at other jobs and must only attend to my clothing. Is someone named Percy could be hired that would be even better. But I’m not a picky man… especially in death.
My body shall be lowered onto a large stage that is clear for all to see. A textual speech bubble should be protruding from my mouth that says “ HEY GUYS! REMEMBER ME?” I will pre record a short speech that should be played at my funeral whilst someone manipulates my jaw like a puppet to make it look as thought I am speaking one last time. At my wake everyone should celebrate my life by eating and drinking all things Dave: baked potatoes, curry pies and strawberry milkshakes will be on the house for all. Then you will dance interpretively to ‘Wannabe’ by The Spice Girls.
A few simple requests there but I feel they could be met.
The thought of being burned and turned into nothing more than a small pile of dust and teeth that is ultimately forced into an ugly vase that sits atop a mantle piece next to antiques that I never appreciated in life, and will most certainly not appreciate in death has never really sounded appealing to me. Likewise being Shakespeare’s worm food has always sounded equally repulsive. I want the glory of my face and body to live on for generations to come. Hopefully one day my body will be considered sacred and people will travel from all over the world just to touch and caress my now leathery skin. Sick and crippled people will cue for weeks just for a glimpse of my stuffed cadaver in the hope I will bless them with my soulful lifeless peepers. Of course we’ll have to charge these pilgrims a nominal fee in order for me body to be preserved. I admit I am no expert on the matter and haven’t actually even bothered looking into it, but I assume that maintaining a dead body is a costly exercise. In any case nominal fee yes but please no ‘Dead Dave’ themed merchandise.
Now I don’t wont to be embalmed and stuffed in a regular fashion and presented in a glass cabinet lying down, oh no. I want to be embalmed, stuffed and them sewn to a lounge chair in an upright sitting position. I hope I die happy because when I imagine myself stuffed and sitting in that chair I imagine a massive smile on my face that greets onlookers and passers by with a look of joy.
At my funeral I must insist that my body after the stuffing, embalming and sewing be lowered from the roof slowly while extremely loud and slow organ music is played out of respect as a tribute to my god like status. I must stress that none of my life be celebrated in a church. Perhaps it would be possible to close down and hire out an entire amusement park for the day? I would like to be wearing clothing that is appropriate to the weather and if I am rich when I die I would like part of my estate to pay a man a steady wage to change the clothing on my body twice a day, once at night to get into my pyjamas and then once every morning to dress me in completely fresh clothes. This man is forbidden from having a family and moonlighting at other jobs and must only attend to my clothing. Is someone named Percy could be hired that would be even better. But I’m not a picky man… especially in death.
My body shall be lowered onto a large stage that is clear for all to see. A textual speech bubble should be protruding from my mouth that says “ HEY GUYS! REMEMBER ME?” I will pre record a short speech that should be played at my funeral whilst someone manipulates my jaw like a puppet to make it look as thought I am speaking one last time. At my wake everyone should celebrate my life by eating and drinking all things Dave: baked potatoes, curry pies and strawberry milkshakes will be on the house for all. Then you will dance interpretively to ‘Wannabe’ by The Spice Girls.
A few simple requests there but I feel they could be met.
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