I am an attention whore of the highest extreme. I don't know how or why people put up with me. I prance around like a drag queen. I take numerous pictures of myself bcause I feel the need (as a former ugly duckling) to record every "Good Face Day". I think I am the authority on all things fashion, food and taste. Manners too. I am sulky if I am not complimented ten times a day. I must be everyone's favorite. I dominate many conversations. I can't help it. My opinion is the only opinion I care about! I have my humble moments. I don't mind pointing out my mistakes.
I want to have my funeral in the largest church in my home town. It has arena seating. It holds aproximately half the population of Minden Louisiana. I want it filled to bursting with people and flowers. I need every flower in the tri state area. Only thier sweetness and beauty in masse can adequately compare to mine while living .If I don't have enough friends to fill every pew, hire me some. I want everyone who has ever come in contact with to say a few words. Make that deliver whole orations to my goodness, my beauty, my intelligence. Someone find my second grade teacher. She can wax poetic about my coloring skills and ability to tell right from left. She knows I should have gotten that solo in our Cabbage Patch Kids program. It doesn't matter that none of the other kids had one either. Find the check out girl at Wal-Mart. Our 30 second conversation about dog food changed her life! I know this! Pipe the program over a loudspeaker so those who could not fit in the church and sweltering outside can hear these sweet words too! Hire some Arabic women to wail and rend their hair and gnash thier teeth. Find some old Irish women to cry Oshon Oshon! I want a few crazy black women to faint every time my name is mentioned. Let them come too on thier own. They may faint, but not draw attention to themselves!
Pall Bearers: Find all my far flung ex boy friends. 20 is not too many , is it? Besides, they will be so grief stricken it will take that many. I suggest going all the way back to Junior High. It's not my fault they lost the love of thier lives when I left them! I could love only so many. Bring thier wives too. They will look lovely in strait jackets and ball gags. Make sure they are facing full length portraits of me in my prime. I need not one picture by my casket, but a dozen to show my progression into beauty. Let these be life sized.
Music: I will need the Mormon Tabernacle Choir there too. In place of the name father, son, Holy Ghost in hymn, replace them with my name. I am sure JC and the Boys will understand. Dave Grohl can play at the graveside. I need an acoustic version of "Everlong" played reverently. I hope he can play through the ocean of tears that turn the whole thing into a great muddy mess.
Ectetera: I want the banks to close. They close for every other useless holiday like President's Day and Columbus Day. I won't be needing money that day. Why should they be open? Also, I apologize in advance for the traffic problems from the procession from the church to the gravesite. I expect it to be clear in about two hours. To insure the proper level of congestion, I recommend everyone come in separate vehicles. Teach your 14 year old to drive if neccesary.
These are my final wishes. Not too much to ask, is it? In the end, we all want to know we were loved.
I want to have my funeral in the largest church in my home town. It has arena seating. It holds aproximately half the population of Minden Louisiana. I want it filled to bursting with people and flowers. I need every flower in the tri state area. Only thier sweetness and beauty in masse can adequately compare to mine while living .If I don't have enough friends to fill every pew, hire me some. I want everyone who has ever come in contact with to say a few words. Make that deliver whole orations to my goodness, my beauty, my intelligence. Someone find my second grade teacher. She can wax poetic about my coloring skills and ability to tell right from left. She knows I should have gotten that solo in our Cabbage Patch Kids program. It doesn't matter that none of the other kids had one either. Find the check out girl at Wal-Mart. Our 30 second conversation about dog food changed her life! I know this! Pipe the program over a loudspeaker so those who could not fit in the church and sweltering outside can hear these sweet words too! Hire some Arabic women to wail and rend their hair and gnash thier teeth. Find some old Irish women to cry Oshon Oshon! I want a few crazy black women to faint every time my name is mentioned. Let them come too on thier own. They may faint, but not draw attention to themselves!
Pall Bearers: Find all my far flung ex boy friends. 20 is not too many , is it? Besides, they will be so grief stricken it will take that many. I suggest going all the way back to Junior High. It's not my fault they lost the love of thier lives when I left them! I could love only so many. Bring thier wives too. They will look lovely in strait jackets and ball gags. Make sure they are facing full length portraits of me in my prime. I need not one picture by my casket, but a dozen to show my progression into beauty. Let these be life sized.
Music: I will need the Mormon Tabernacle Choir there too. In place of the name father, son, Holy Ghost in hymn, replace them with my name. I am sure JC and the Boys will understand. Dave Grohl can play at the graveside. I need an acoustic version of "Everlong" played reverently. I hope he can play through the ocean of tears that turn the whole thing into a great muddy mess.
Ectetera: I want the banks to close. They close for every other useless holiday like President's Day and Columbus Day. I won't be needing money that day. Why should they be open? Also, I apologize in advance for the traffic problems from the procession from the church to the gravesite. I expect it to be clear in about two hours. To insure the proper level of congestion, I recommend everyone come in separate vehicles. Teach your 14 year old to drive if neccesary.
These are my final wishes. Not too much to ask, is it? In the end, we all want to know we were loved.
No comments:
Post a Comment