Wherein I Contemplate My Demise

I would like to take this opportunity to clear up some confusion. Some time ago, I tweeted that I would like to be buried in the middle of a Ben & Jerry’s Half Baked ice cream bar. I believe my exact instructions were to lay me out on the popsicle stick and cover me with chocolate. Recently, I also sent an email to various family members relaying the recipe for brownie pudding and instructing them I wanted to be buried in the middle of said brownie pudding. I also seem to recall mentioning to a friend at some point that I want to be buried in the middle of the Cheesecake Factory’s Godiva chocolate cheesecake. Now the last thing I want is to unexpectedly pass and have my family and friends taking sides and battling it out over which delectable dessert to insert me into. So, for clarification, and since I really cannot choose which is my favorite, here are my wishes, which I trust you will all respect: I would like the bottom third of my body (feet to mid-thigh) to be buried in brownie pudding; the middle third (mid-thighs to lower half of boobs) buried in Ben & Jerry’s Half Baked ice cream bar; and the top third (top half of boobs to head) buried in the Cheesecake Factory’s Godiva chocolate cheesecake. To further clarify, I would like for my body to remain in tact so you will have to figure out some way to pour each dessert over me so it only covers each designated part of my body. Perhaps some sort of wooden divider made of popsicle sticks? I don’t know, it’s really not my job to figure that part out. I’m dead.

Actually, truth be told, and not to confuse you further, but I really don’t want to be buried at all. I’m not crazy about the idea of being lowered into a hole and having 6 feet of dirt thrown in on top. Also not thrilled with the whole burning my body down to ashes concept either. I’m a bit incredulous and disappointed that after thousands of years, we still really only have these two crappy options. Way to suck, science. How about a little less time studying the mating habits of wombats and a little more time figuring out how to freeze me in chocolate so I’ll wake up in 200 years once you’ve finally cured my disease and be able to chew my way out? What a glorious way to wake up!

While I’m complaining about crappy post-death options, how about the fact that I have to die at all (note that I said “I” there, not “you” or “we”, let’s not forget this is about me)? Can’t something be done about that? I’m absolutely terrified over the idea that one day I will just not exist. There will be no me left going on about my business in the world and monitoring things. I’m pretty sure I won’t be allowed to check Perez Hilton 17 times a day in heaven because something about that just doesn’t seem right. I don’t think God is going to care that I care that Miley Cyrus’ shorts are too short. I guess I’d be more okay with it if I knew God had a sense of humor. I’d be much cooler with dying if I knew God said “cockandballs” when he stubs his toe. But then why would God stub his toe? Seems like he should know where all the furniture is. So then I guess I just hope he says “cockandballs” sometimes. Hopefully in context though. Otherwise it would be weird. Also, while we’re on this, has anyone actually seen any kind of indication that God has toes? Seems like Jesus is the one always getting painted and I can’t recall at this moment if I’ve ever seen any artist’s rendition of God, other than being depicted as light, and it’s hard to get from that if there are toes. If he does have them, I’m sure they are magnificent. Especially since he likely never rams them into anything.

This post has gotten a bit out of hand, so, in conclusion, I like chocolate and God but not death. Thank you for listening.