Hi gang...look I'm posting this rant just in bleeping case ya know what I mean. Look if my family tries something funny like sticking me in the ground after I kick da bucket I'm saying here, and in a notarized letter that all that noise if off the menu!
When I'm a goner when I kick the damned bucket shake'n bake my bones! Which is to say cremate my ass. Eh making absolutely sure I'm 'really' 'really' 'really' a stiff. I seriously don't want any misunderstanding at the oven.
When Uncle Sydney keels over face first first into a pizza with extra sausage. No actually face down into a heaping platter of Bar-B-Q ribs my Root Beer crashing to the floor for effect...
(...this is an Album Cover. )
Anyway I wants to be cooked cremated stir fried the works.
I have no wish to be in some damned box waiting for 30th century grad students to go poking at my bones, and wondering at my bad teeth.
For crying out loud what a stupid tradition.
Dolling up the dead shooting all sorts of chemicals into them..."aww he looks like he's sleeping."
No he ain't the guy's bleeping dead as a bag of squashed kittens. Get over it...the dearly departed sure did.
Painting me up, and shooting me full of all them nasty chemicals ain't gonna do 'me' any good at all!
Let the Dead go.
We live we die we're meat we rot.
We turn to dust we're blown away.
But we're the dust that dreamed that loved, and had a desperate longing need to 'be' loved.
(My meds must be kicking in I'm getting all spiritual soft and fuzzy.)