So, as I’ve mentioned before, I was hunting down life insurance. Well, I’m now insured. Take all the pot-shots you want, my family is covered.
Oh, unless I get bowel cancer. Apparently one person in my entire family getting it means that I’m too much of a risk to get it as well, so I’m not covered for that.
Never mind, I’ll just have to make sure any critical illnesses I get aren’t that.
I wonder whether becoming a zombie counts as a “critical illness”. I’m sure I couldn’t effectively do my job. What would zombies teach? Biology? Physical Education? I’d be unemployed and almost unemployable. Maybe McDonald’s. “Would you like brains with that?”
Dead, but still poking around. That reminds me. Awhile ago I posted on Twitter a “post-bucket list”. A list of things I want to do once I’ve kicked the bucket. Everyone has a list of things they want to do before they die. I thought I’d be a little more ambitious.
This list came out of noticing that a number of dead friends and relatives were still popping up on Facebook. “You haven’t chatted to this person for awhile!”
Yes. They’re dead, you insensitive multi-national corporation!
But anyway, the list:
- Delete my Facebook account. Although, I might post a couple of status updates first.
- “Man it’s hot down here!”
- “Oh look, Elvis!”
- Damian has poked you… with a chilly, ghostly finger.
- Make a clay pot with Demi Moore
- Haunt someone. Kevin Smith was talking about a friend who saw her brother on the wing of a plane, saying that he was at peace. I think I would have something more interesting to say. “You know, there are all these tiny lights. So pretty. And they’re getting closer… Oh, oh no. Stop! Get off me! AAARGH!”
- Participate in a séance – from the other side.
- Melvin Death…
- … and then Fear the Reaper.
Hmm. It’s not a long list. Oh wait, one more:
- Go to my own funeral.
I know it’ll be good. I’m pretty sure anyone who would bitch about me at my funeral is pretty much happy to bitch about me in front of my face. But I am very aware that I haven’t written a will. Or an obituary. Or my epitaph. Or prepared my Death Press Kit.
“My what?” you ask. My Death Press Kit, I answer. “Yes, but I think that needs clarification,” you say. Well, yes. Fair enough. Let me see if I can find an example…
Hmm. Microsoft Dictionary doesn’t recognise the word “farewelled”. Ah well, it is the Herald-Sun. Here’s the picture:
See? Pretty. Obviously a phone picture, so it fits the Social Media aspect. She did a good job. Or her parents, or whoever sent the papers her photo. Or whichever reporter hacked into her Facebook account.
On the other hand:
You look at this guy and you think “yup, sleazy, obviously a killer. Hope he rots in Hell.” Or maybe that’s just me.
See? You need a Death Press Kit to ensure the papers know how to deal with you after your death. So, to make things easier, I have some photos for various occasions:
Traveler and philanthropist Perry dies after decades of community work
Perry, shamed teacher, dies alone after extended scandal
Conspiracy nut Perry dies in accidental piano incident
I don’t really want to write my obituary yet. I think that’s a blog in itself. I’ll leave you with the Death Press Kit and try to relax after the earthquake that’s scaring Melbournians to death. Gods. I remember Japan. These things happened every week. Still, I better make my sacrifices to the Ancient Ones.
Oh, that reminds me, and speaking of terrible Death Press Kits:
This guy didn’t pick his Death Photo.
This guy killed and ate a guy who was living with him, including his heart and brain. The response from the on-campus co-ordinators:
“He noted the university has a zero-tolerance policy toward violence and a student in such a situation would likely be suspended or expelled.”
However, where I really think they were stretching for evidence:
“In February, Kinyua posted a question on Facebook, asking fellow students at historically black colleges and universities if they were “strong enough to endure ritual HBCU mass human sacrifices around the country and still be able to function as human beings?””
OK. The man was a looney. He killed and ate someone. But if I was indicted for every call to human sacrifice I placed in a Facebook status, I would never again see the light of day!
Let’s see what I can find.
- “Today, I invade England!”
- “Happy Invasion Day!”
- “So birds are dying all over the globe and now there is a cow that’s given birth to a two headed calf. Is anyone else worried?”
- “OK. Got an hour to finish the Multimedia class. That’s 3 minutes per student!”
- “Sorry Paul, I have a social group on Wednesdays. Knock em dead!”
- “is apparently NOT the killer, but is incompetent.”
See? I’m stuffed. Ok. Back into hiding. See you next week.