After today, I would like to state something publically, so there is no mistaking my wishes. Besides the fact Budman will not get the bulk of my estate, I wish, once I shuffle off this world’s cares and woes, to be donated to science.
Yes, boys and girls, that’s correct. My entire body–by that point hopefully wizened and wrinkled and well-spent–will wind up as a cadaver. Maybe I’ll be on a body farm, maybe at a med school, maybe as a crash test dummy for Volvo, or an exhibit in the Chicago Field Museum. You will not mess with funeral homes, with choosing a size or material to fit my remains inside. You will not fork out $$ to pay for transportation from church to cememtery. Listen to me know, and listen good. There will be no 6×6 hole in the ground, no concrete or marble tomb or mausoleum, no flame that burns at eight bazillion degrees and results in a small plastic container that fits in the door of a refrigerator or in a decoratie urn. There will be no, absolutely NO casket of any type.
Got that?
Good.
Meanwhile, since writers tend to be tomb raiders or grave snatchers, or simply the kind of people who steal bits of real life for their works of fiction, I’ll soon be writing about the experiences I had today. Oh my yes, I have fodder for fiction.