1. When I die, I am to be buried in my leather jacket and Chuck Taylor converse all-stars, with my PAW albums and my Mac. Please do not remove any of my piercings. This is vital. Instruct the mortician not to trim my nails, as their continual growth after my death will be an awesome reminder to everyone who comes to my funeral of their own mortality. You may apply make-up, but not lipstick.
2. The funeral must be light-hearted, full of life, and above all IRONIC. The funeral should begin approximately forty minutes after the close of the Replay. I should still have an open 12-pack of PBR in my fridge which may be distributed to the guests. Guests should arrive late, be on something, and complain about how the funeral scene in Lawrence was much cooler in the 90’s. At least one guest should be encouraged to piss on the Hearse, and another to vomit somewhere out of the way in the home so that it stays there, unfound, for quite some time.
3. The music during my funeral will be a continual loop of Freebird, which gets louder and louder with each playing. This, again, is ironic. Anyone taking it seriously should be asked to leave and attend a second, more sombre, service at the Mustard Seed Christian Fellowship. That service will be for someone else.
4. I’d like to start with a closed casket, which opens in time to the music about halfway through the funeral, with a smoke machine and lazer light system inside. This is less ironic, and more awesome.
5. As I will be cremated, please encourage guests to throw their empty cans, fast food boxes, and weekly recycling in the casket with me. There’s no reason I can’t help the environment, even after my death. Organic waste from the funeral should be composted in the backyard. Please DO NOT let the landlord see you doing this. I will need the security deposit to pay back my folks.
6. After the funeral, the wake should be held at the Pig, where the sadness of my friends will be countered by an inappropriate gallery display centering around MS Paint drawings of vaginas saying funny things. There could be cartoon bubbles where they speak. The vaginas should say nothing about my passing. Their presence alone will speak volumes. There should be more vomiting.
7. I would like my ashes ground into the floor of the following establishments–
*The Bourgeois Pig (Natch)
*Eighth Street Taproom (Good Times.)
*The Piano Bar (IRONICALLY)
*Liberty Hall (Where I worked)
*Pizza Shuttle (Where I worked)
*On the ‘T’ (So at least someone is riding it)
*Borders (Where I worked)
*Fatso’s (Again, IRONICALLY)
*The Set of 1-on-1 Trivia (still IRONICALLY)
*Bagel & Bagel (Where I worked)
*Allen Press (Where I worked)
*And Harbor Lights (if they’ll allow it, as I may still be banned)
8. In lieu of a set mourning period, I would like all of my friends to be slightly disconcerted for approximately two weeks or until their next payday. At least one should leave an after-party early (before 3a.m.) feeling “down” about my passing. Two other friends may recite the following dialogue (while drinking)
A: Hated to see him go.
B: It sucks.
A: It really fucking sucks.
B: To him.
9. If someone wants to hunt down my ex-girlfriend Anne and punch her in the boob, that would be much appreciated. Hated her. She’s probably the reason for this.
10. Please do not delete my Facebook account, as I relish the idea of you all getting messages that say ‘Reconnect with him’ with my picture on it after I’m gone. Ha-ha, suckas.
These conditions are all legal and binding, and I will come back and haunt you, ironically, if you don’t adhere to them.
Posted from my Iphone