Every day people pass me by and ask, “How are you?” I often tell them, “I’m not dead yet.” My response is a way to check how many are paying attention and are serious about their hi-yas. It is also a reminder that I’m still alive. Cause you never know. I might just be six feet under and not know it.
Which brings me to the question of my funeral. I have it all planned out. When the mourners arrive, there won’t be any of that morbid shushing kind of music that reminds the dearly deceased that they are dead. I won’t need to be reminded. There’s a good chance I already know. I may very well have lit out for greener pastures, assuming I didn’t make the wrong guys mad in the hereafter.
Just in case I’m still around, I want some great music. The kind that will wake up the dead and tell us that it’s time to party. Like “I Got To Get Out Of This Place” by the Animals or “Won’t Get Fooled Again” by the Who or “A Hard Day’s Night” by the Beatles or “Start Me Up” by the Rolling Stones or “Stairway to Heaven” by Led Zep or “Piece of My Heart” by Janis. I want it cranked up where the attendees know they’re still alive and kicking. At the end, give me some “Ode to Joy” by Ludwig. Just to let folks know that I am having a darn, good time.
Once the mourners take their seats, assuming there are mourners—one never knows who will make an appearance—the Master of Ceremonies will come out and tell folks, “Now on with the show.”
At that time, each of the mourners get to stand up and tell a joke. Don’t want none of those knock-knock jokes. I want jokes that have a punch. When the jokes have been joked and the laughs have been laughed, each will rise out of their seat. They take a mug off the mug table. Pour themselves a beer from the keg sitting beside the coffin. Then they will toast the dearly departed. At that time my body will be rigged to stand up and thank them for coming.
The procession ends and they roll my old dead skeleton out to the grave. They dump me into the hole and bury me. After everybody has taken off for all-points-beyond, dead ain’t going to be so bad. I get to lay out in the sun. I don’t have to worry about what to wear. Nobody will be around to bother me about my lousy fashion sense. And, of course, I will get a nice long vacation.
On my tombstone chipped in stone, there will be a reminder: “I’m dead now.”