Putting the Fun in My Funeral

However awkward, my wife Allison holds both the lunacy and the skillset to break laws of etiquette – especially when it comes to putting the fun in funeral. Of course, she initially offers up genuine, heartfelt sympathy at the appropriate time and displays rarely-seen seriousness during solemn moments. However, when the service is over, she electrifies everyone with jokes, jabs, and downright insults about the deceased. The closer she was to the departed – the more outrageous the antics. Knowing this, I thought it would be best to be pro-active and personally put the fun in my own funeral – before she gets the chance to wing it herself.

I.   I, Dave Pascal, declare this disposition as my official last will and the official script for my funeral. I revoke any and all future scripts, antics, jokes, jabs, insults, and/or comedy routines my wife Allison may attempt at my expense during my memorial service after my unfortunate passing,

II.  Under no circumstances shall Allison officiate my post-mortem services. Services must be held at the nearest drag show, and the most extravagant Drag Queen must officiate. She must frolic around my casket, lip sync to Dude (Looks Like a Lady), and offer tongue pops, mouth kisses and ass smacks to all in attendance.

My wife loves drag shows. Such a fun theme would offer a great prologue to my funeral. Once my wife is engaged with the show, I’ll blindside her with my own definition of funeral-fun – at her expense, of course.

III.  During intermission, dozens of ultra-high resolution televisions will continuously loop the Billy Joel music video You May Be Right.

Allison enjoys Billy Joel as much as she enjoys a crotch rash. He’s my favorite musical artist.

IV.  With the proper cadence, inflection, and enunciation, my wife must read a well-thought-out, five hundred (500) word essay detailing the deep, grinding grief of her loss. Examples of acceptable wording: Dave was a badass. He was a handsome, witty, hot, sexy beast. And he was mine, all mine. Hope you were jealous, bitches.

Forcing my wife to read a self-penned heartfelt essay in a public forum is a bold move. Clearly, she was serious when she gave me a hand-written love note at the beginning of our relationship that declared I always hold my deep feelings really close; I never tell them to anyone.

V.  A dozen (12) cover model-esque bikini-clad pallbearers from every race, ethnicity, and creed shall carry my coffin. All but one pallbearer must be female. My wife will lead the procession as they rap along to Missy Elliot’s Get Your Freak On with the appropriate enthusiasm, choreography, and facial expressions.

VI.  At the gravesite, exactly five minutes (5:00) of official crying, weeping, and mourning are mandatory. Immediately afterward, Allison and all attendees must carefully act out each lyric of Last Friday Night by Katy Perry. Photos and video of the event must be posted on all social media platforms.

Despite my passing, I’ll do my best to attend. No way in hell would I miss these festivities. I’m sure I’ll be there in spirit, at the very least.

VII.  After my funeral, my wife may utilize the remaining value of my estate for her personal benefit. However, such utilization must be in accordance with the following directives.

i. My wife may hire bare-chested firefighters for service and entertainment purposes often as she chooses. All firefighters must be short, fat, and ugly, be over fifty (50) years old, and be verifiably un-showered for a minimum of three (3) days.
ii. My wife may vacation of often as she likes and wherever she chooses. All excursions must be local places we previously visited together.
iii. As soon as she wishes, my wife may date multiple men at any given time. They must be young, handsome, charismatic, educated and rich. All men must validate they are gay.
iv. My wife may quit her job and retire comfortably in the lifestyle she’s become accustomed to during our marriage.

Ha! It’s my way or no way baby!

VIII.  Any deviance of this disposition will result in immediate forfeiture of my estate. All funds must then be donated to the AMC Graveyard in my wife’s name. A blinking neon sign, no less than twenty feet high with the words “Allison loves American Motors Cars” must be erected adjacent to the sidewalk.

Because I’ve always wanted a 1975 AMC Pacer in the garage, Allison hates the 1970s automaker American Motors as much as I love them.

IV.  Signed, Dave Pascal.

For me, this is what putting the fun in the funeral is all about.
Finally, despite years of teasing from my wife, I get the final word to break etiquette and dictate my own funeral-fun. With all of you as witnesses to my wishes, my wife will have no choice but to comply. I will not hesitate to kick her ass from beyond the grave.

Oddly, it’s quite comforting knowing I can rest in peace before the fact.

Photo Credit: Casketcases Flickr via Compfight cc

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