Reaffirmed to my wife yesterday that upon my final death on this planet that my wishes were to be cremated. No wake.
That if she deemed it proper, a service could be held at a Catholic/Christian Church, Jewish Temple, New Age Congregation, Buddhist Garden, Ganges River but that I would not be particularly happy with a Mosque. I've already had two wake services, enough for one person. One is called life and the other was a lovely, whimsical affair.
That with my ashes she could do as she pleased. Spread them, dump them, turn them into soap, a scented candle, donate them to a Goodwill store, KFC, Taco Bell or Popeyes, even convert them into a small rock that she could place inside her shoes.
She wryly loved the Mosque idea. I've seen that grin before.
My afterlife is in danger. I might need help from off-duty officers to stay dead.
Ha ha ha.
|All the time|
How many are you planning on? Or is that instead of La petite mort?
It's no secret that I watch Fox News.
I'm about the same except I'd prefer my cremains be thrown in the nearest trash. I'm not in there at that point, so no reason to keep them. Use the savings on an expensive box and funeral for a party.
|probably a good thing|
I don't have a cut
I want my ashes thrown into a volcano. Or, if it were allowed, they could just throw my corpse into the volcano to save the price of the cremation.
|Delusions of Adequacy|
A friend spread her husband's ashes on the front walk after a snowstorm. She said it was the first useful work he'd done around the house in years.
I have my own style of humor. I call it Snarkasm.
I'd like to be made into a diamond and then flung into outer space.
A couple SIGs and a few others
I considered the earth-orbiting option in the 90s. At the time, it was possible to track it. Which, in my mind, would make a jehzsa-tracking party for friends and family during the anniversary attractive. Especially if they were nice and drunk. "Look---there he goessh! Everybody have a sshot!"
Today I realize that being categorized as space debris and a threat to the space station and other assorted doodahs out there is not to my liking.
There's enough crap out there right now to add a bit of me.
I told the wife I want a Viking funeral. Put my body on a raft in the middle of the harbor and light me on fire.
I like your style.
Another option to consider, does she like Diamonds?
Deplorable before deplorable was cool!
I'd feel safer if she donated my ashes to the local KFC. You know---one more of the 11 herbs and spices.
She loses jewelry like a black hole gobbles up light.
Have your ashes sprinkled into the carpet, so she can clean up after you one more time.
No matter where you go, there you are
I always prefer reality when I can figure out what it is.
-- JALLEN 10/18/18
|thin skin can't win|
Whatever you do, swallow a giant mound of popcorn kernels just before you die. The cremation will be epic.
You only have integrity once. - imprezaguy02
That is a great idea.
"What the hell is happening?"
"Apparently he ingested popcorn kernels before he died."
"Are you recording this?"
"1080i. WOW, look at that one go!"
"This is going on FB."
|Little ray |
I'm going to insist that they do something wildly inconvenient and a pain in the ass. Like throw some of my ashes off the Empire State building, some in the Gulf of Mexico 40 miles offshore, bury some in Alaska, shoot some into space . . . you get the picture.
The fish is mute, expressionless. The fish doesn't think because the fish knows everything.
But perhaps they'll want closure.
"Guys, are we finished yet?"
One of the comments that my wife made was about closure. She wants closure. I do not know closure. Of all the deaths that touched me, none is particularly open-ended. In a sense, closure was instantaneous with the moment of death. I do not know, or understand, what closure means for her or to anyone else for that matter.
|Waiting for Hachiko|
And miss the party?
Phyllis Diller and Fang come to mind.
I have given my wife very clear guidelines for my departure. Cremation. Then the ashes are to be loaded into rifle shells (maybe 30-06 or 375 ruger) after which those that wish to speed me on my way may gather and do so at the local shooting range. One of my friends or children will have to do the reloading of the ammunition as my wife does not reload. Thanks to Joe Ely for the suggestion.
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