the grateful dead

while i wouldn't want to be blasted off skyward in a burst of fireworks (ok that doesn't sound too bad actually, better than being kept in an urn sealed in a concrete hole in the wall with a marble plaque marking my spot for eternity - or at least until the columbarium stands), i think there are lessons to be learnt from Hunter S Thompson's sparkler of a funeral.

I don't want wreaths and pots of flowers.

They simply clutter up the place and fill the air even more with the smell of death and dying. Please make donations to a charity of choice instead.

I don't want relatives in white t-shirts and a blue square pinned to the sleeve. I never understood that. People should wear whatever they like, even if it's bright pink. But I draw the line at t-shirts that say things like 'ding dong the witch is dead'.

I don't want a long three, four, five day wake.
It should be simple, and as short as possible.

People never know what to do when they approach the coffin.
Do I look in?
Do I bow?
Do I say a prayer?
I never know.

I don't want horrible food cooked outdoors by a family whose young daughter hangs around with dead people and their left-behinds while her parents work wakes.

Finger food, alcohol. Far better.

At Hunter S Thompson's funeral they poured champagne, mint juleps and Wild Turkey.

I'll have gin and tonics, Erdinger and champagne, that is if those i'm leaving behind can afford to dole out the alcohol but seeing how I'm tossing more than i'm squirreling away, I doubt I will be leaving much behind. Sorry, er, future ones. (if any)

Mourners (well-wishers?) supped on lamb chops and prawn cocktails.

I haven't exactly figured out what kind of food would do, but dessert would definitely involve chocolate.

Death by chocolate? Death with chocolate.

It's Friday night. I'm in the office. It's about twenty minutes to midnight. Spare me.