I am to be buried at the Wembley Estates Cemetery (at Sycamore and 4th) under the big oak tree next to my wife Martha on the west side so we can watch the sunset each night. Be aware that the cemetery doesn’t exist yet, so you might need to get cracking on that. Also, you will need to dig up Martha so you can move her corpse. I buried her in the flowerbed behind the house.
For the viewing, dress me in a suit. Not a double-breasted or a tuxedo, but rather a no-frills, ordinary swimsuit. These glorious pecs were my gift to the world, and I want the world to have one last look.
At my funeral, I request that Jennifer give my Eulogy. Jennifer, we’ve had our differences, but I know I can trust you to keep the crowd smiling during such a depressing time…because you stutter like crazy during speeches and I think it would be pretty hilarious.
Before sealing the casket, my hands and feet are to be bound in chains and my eyes shall be covered with a blindfold. It probably isn’t necessary, but on the off chance I do somehow magically escape my grave, I want people saying, “Wow, that was some trick.”
I hear Egyptian kings used to have their servants buried with them so the servants could further serve the king in the afterlife. Frederick, my butler, are you sitting down? Because you’re not going to like what I have to say next…your “famous” New England clam chowder tastes like stale feet. There. I said it. Sorry, but I just never had the heart to tell you to your face. I thought the Egyptian thing would be a good excuse for bringing it up here.
My coffin is to be buried vertically. I always wanted to see what it felt like to stand in one of those old-timey wooden phone booths and, hey, this seems close enough.
No matter what the circumstances, I do not want my body donated to science. However, I might consider being donated to the Children’s Cancer Fund, provided the doctors could get their hands on some extra-strength invisible wire. I think those kids would really get a kick out of seeing my corpse dancing around the hospital like a marionette.
If I happen to be killed by a snake, and if that snake is brought to trial for his crime, and if it looks like the snake will be found guilty, I instruct you to visit the judge’s chambers and ask him not to sentence the snake to have his venom removed. Not because I forgive the snake for what he did, but because I don’t think the punishment would fit the crime. You see, the snake didn’t bite me. He tampered with my parachute so it wouldn’t open.
My assets are to be divided evenly among my hairs. Wait, no I mean heirs! Wow. That typo could have really “spelled” disaster! Hairs…can you imagine? I always forget how to spell that word. “Heirs.” With an E. Duh! Boy, I sure hope there’s no spelling test to get into heaven!! No, but seriously, I’m not crazy. My heirs are to split my estates evenly. Those cute little rabbits deserve it.