“Greetings. My name is Richard P. Wormwell III, and I am the funeral director here. I understand that your son has died. I’m very sorry to hear this. Much like a beloved dog, a son can feel almost like another member of the family. Though you may try to acquire a new son to fill the void, each son is unique in temperament and character, and any earnest attempt to replace one is truly a fool’s errand.
“There, there. There, there.
“I will be assisting you in planning the service for your boy, who, as you’ll surely recall, is no longer alive.
“Now, before we begin, would you be so kind as to remind me how your son died?”
“You don’t say? Well, a death so spectacular deserves a truly exceptional funeral. Let’s get started, shall we?
“First, I’m afraid we must discuss the matter of finances. What, may I ask, is your budget for your son’s funeral?”
“Did...did I hear that correctly? Did you say seven thousand dollars? As in, like, 70 hundred-dollar bills?”
“And you want to spend this astronomical sum on a service for your son? A son who in his current condition is no more capable of enjoying the proceedings than a pile of wet trash?”
“That sounds like a nice idea. You deserve it.
“Now, go on! Get out there and have some fun. Don’t worry about what to do with your son—we’ll dispose of him in the sewer, free of charge.”
With no funeral to stress about and $7,000 in your pocket, the world is your oyster. What would you like to do?
“Hmm...that doesn’t leave us with much wiggle room. For $43, you have only two options: the Refugee Stampede or Ahab’s Adieu.”
“Excellent choice. For the Refugee Stampede, we hand your son off to a wailing mob of disenfranchised wanderers who then loudly parade his coffin around outside, ad infinitum, until they all eventually charge off a cliff and disappear into the dusty abyss.
“Well, shall we?”
“Excellent choice. For the Ahab’s Adieu, we cover your son’s casket in slices of American cheese and then shove it off a dock into the eager mouth of a huge, famished whale.
“Well, shall we?”
“Annnnnd they’re off! Listen to them wail! There’s really no telling where they’ll carry your boy, but take comfort knowing that his ghost will remain with you for the rest of your days, ghoulishly moaning ‘Daddy...Daddy...’ every time you try to fall asleep.”
You proceed to the funeral, where your son’s cheese-covered casket is lowered into the mouth of the ravenous whale. The funeral director, Richard, consecrates the occasion with a stirring prayer:
“O flippered god of the sea from whence we came, we grant unto thee this yummy offering of a boy-child, whose body you now welcome into your vast, hollow face. Regurgitate him not, for he is full of nutrients that thou cannot get from plankton. Give him eternal rest in thy foul, wet belly. Do not let his soul escape through thy gills, lest it be eaten by thy mortal enemy, the sharks. Thank you, Whale, for swallowing this 48-pound boy. Thank you, O colossal rubber god of the sea. You’re the best.”
Amen.
Unbelievable! Front-row seats for Peter Gabriel! You’re a little off to the side, but you can still see him perfectly. Wow! You really hope he plays “Solsbury Hill.” You don’t know too many of his songs, so hearing one of the ones you know would be really cool.
What? No way! He’s playing it! He must’ve heard you shouting because—BAM!—he just jumped right into it! Unreal. And his voice has only gotten better with age. How cool is this?
Wait, what? Where’d the concert go? Just two seconds ago, you were standing FRONT ROW for PETER FREAKIN’ GABRIEL, but now it’s completely silent and there’s an eerie fog obscuring your vision.
Ahhh! A ghost just appeared!
“Dad, stop, it’s me!” the ghost says. “It’s your dead son, Wayne.”
“Wayne is my ghost name,” he explains. “You get to choose a new name when you begin the afterlife.”
Wayne stares at you and doesn’t say anything. He then lets out a little hiccup—the same little hiccup you heard a million times when he was still alive. And with that, you know for certain that this really is your son.
AHHH GROSS!!
Wow, your son looks terrible. It occurs to you that this is probably because he went to Hell. This makes you feel a little weird.
A few uncomfortable moments of silence pass, and you’re not entirely sure what to do.
Oh, heck yeah. This rocks. With the $7,000, you were able to transform your drab old man cave into an awesome space where all the guys will wanna hang. It’s got everything: a hi-def projector for watching TV, two mini-fridges to keep your craft brewskis ice cold, a framed Vikings jersey signed by The Cris Carter, and a sweet sign for the door that says “WARNING: Enter Man Cave At Your Own Risk.”
What do you want to do now?
Huh, weird. Your hi-def projector stopped working. How are you supposed to enjoy your man cave if your hi-def projector isn’t projecting the high-octane programming you crave? You’ve gotta fix this.
Uh-oh. You must’ve done something wrong. The room has turned pitch black, except for an eerie fog drifting in front of you.
“Dad, I didn’t come here to play games with you,” he says. “I came here to ask you to give me a funeral. My soul can’t rest in peace until you do.”
Ah, jeez. The kid really wants to be properly laid to rest. What are you going to do?
Nice. Your plan went off without a hitch. Now his ghost won’t try to spook you anymore. So long, Wayne!
Oh, look. The projector’s working again. Sweet.
All things considered, today ended up being a pretty great day.
Ahhh! A ghost just appeared!
“Dad, stop, it’s me!” the ghost says. “It’s your dead son, Wayne.”
“Wayne is my ghost name,” he explains. “You get to choose a new name when you begin the afterlife.”
Wayne stares at you and doesn’t say anything. He then lets out a little hiccup—the same little hiccup you heard a million times when he was still alive. And with that, you know for certain that this really is your son.
AHHH GROSS!!
Wow, your son looks terrible. It occurs to you that this is probably because he went to Hell. This makes you feel a little weird.
A few uncomfortable moments of silence pass, and you’re not entirely sure what to do.
“Dad, I didn’t come here to play games with you,” he says. “I came here to ask you to give me a funeral. My soul can’t rest in peace until you do.”
Ah, jeez. The kid really wants to be properly laid to rest. What are you going to do?
Nice. Your plan went off without a hitch. Now his ghost won’t try to spook you anymore. So long, Wayne!
Oh, man, this is awesome.
Today ended up being a really great day.
In life, your son would always fuss until he got his way, and it seems like death hasn’t changed him one bit. To make him happy, you throw together a quick little funeral in the backyard, inviting the elderly couple next door and the mailman to play the roles of mourners. Since the funeral home already disposed of his corpse, you seal his ghost inside a big balloon, stuff the balloon into an old cooler, and then lower the cooler into a shallow grave. You hum the national anthem as you shovel the dirt over his cooler-coffin, and the mailman leaves a bouquet of Bed Bath & Beyond mailers atop the freshly covered burial plot.
You briefly consider giving a eulogy, but then the automatic sprinklers come on and all the mourners run away. Oh, well. It doesn’t matter. Your son’s dead, and now you can go back to the awesome Peter Gabriel concert.
In life, your son would always fuss until he got his way, and it seems like death hasn’t changed him one bit. To make him happy, you throw together a quick little funeral in the backyard, inviting the elderly couple next door and the mailman to play the roles of mourners. Since the funeral home already disposed of his corpse, you seal his ghost inside a big balloon, stuff the balloon into an old cooler, and then lower the cooler into a shallow grave. You hum the national anthem as you shovel the dirt over his cooler-coffin, and the mailman leaves a bouquet of Bed Bath & Beyond mailers atop the freshly covered burial plot.
You briefly consider giving a eulogy, but then the automatic sprinklers come on and all the mourners run away. Oh, well. It doesn’t matter. Your son’s dead, and now you can go chill in your man cave.
You’re standing in front of a funeral home with tears in your eyes and a checkbook in your pocket, which can only mean one thing: IT’S FUNERAL-PLANNING TIME!
Specifically, you’re here to plan the funeral of your dead little boy, Caleb. And since Caleb didn’t leave a will specifying what he wanted, you’ve got a blank slate to plan the biggest, saddest, most mind-blowing funeral this town has ever seen.
So, what are you waiting for? Get in there and plan the funeral of the summer!
“Very well then. With $7,000, we can plan a very cool funeral.
“Now! Let us head to the coffin showroom to select a nice eternity-cage for your sweet boy’s corpse.”
“Here are our most impressive and costly coffins.
“At the back of the room, we have the Crestwick Bone Estate, which, with polished ivory hemispheres lining the cabin and bespoke cashmere limb shackles, is the industry leader in posthumous indulgence.
“Next is the Crestwick Bone Estate Sport, which is much like the original, only it’s outfitted with a rear spoiler, stink-wicking microfiber upholstery, and rubber performance grips for maximum pallbearer maneuverability.
“Third is the CrypTek Ecstasy Chamber. It is said to feel like you’re being gently cradled by God’s tongue.
“Fourth is the Nissan Incredible Rectangle. Nissan only recently entered the luxury casket market, but the company is already turning heads with this innovative model, which comes standard with a sporty kickstand, retractable mourning window, and voice-activated entertainment console with Bluetooth integration.
“Finally, we have the limited-edition Apollo NecroComet XP. It’s loud as hell and utterly inescapable.
“Which coffin would you like?”
“Ah, excellent choice. Any child would be lucky to be permanently sealed inside this coffin.
“Now, would you be interested in adding a Forever Friend to your purchase?”
“For an additional charge of $300, we’ll include a friendly young buddy to keep your child’s remains company until the end of time.”
“As you wish.
“Now, shall we go choose an officiant to preside over the funeral? Or shall we break to have a toffee first?”
“Excellent. Here are the Forever Friends you can choose from.
“On the left is Logan. He’s a happy little guy who loves playing with Legos and helping his dad drive the lawn mower.
“In the middle is Keegan. He can be a bit shy at first, but once he opens up, he’ll talk about pretty much anything, from his favorite baseball team to his beloved pet iguana, Digger.
“On the right is Teddy. Teddy is always polite, and he gets the best grades of anyone in his class.”
“Superb. He will make a wonderful companion for your little dead one.
“Now, shall we go choose an officiant to preside over the funeral? Or shall we break to have a toffee?”
“Here we are: two toffees. One for me and one for you. Go ahead, don’t be shy. Put one in your mouth and chew it.”
“Yes! You’re chewing it! Good for you. In seasons of mourning, it’s good to make time for toffee.”
“As you can see, I’m also chewing on a toffee. We are chewing our toffees together.”
“Not as easy to chew as you thought, is it? Indeed, toffee is one of the most challenging foods one can chew. Far more challenging than pudding, although not quite as challenging as leather.”
“I’m pleased to report that I have now finished my toffee. Have you finished yours? Be honest. There’s no shame in chewing slowly.”
“That’s perfectly okay. Continue chewing at your leisure—you’ll get there eventually. In the meantime, I will be standing here looking at you and gently humming an ancient song.”
“You’re not just saying that, are you? Open your mouth to prove to me that you’ve truly finished your toffee.”
“Hummmmmmm hum hum hum hummmmmm hummmmmm.”
“My, you’re really having a difficult time with that toffee, aren’t you? No matter. Chewing toffee is an art, and not everyone can be proficient at it.”
“Hummmmm hummmmmm hummmmmm.”
“I must say, I’m beginning to grow a little impatient with you. You should be finished with your toffee by now.”
“To be frank, I’d say I’m actually beyond impatient now. I’m feeling downright pissed off. You’re wasting my time, and I demand that you finish your toffee immediately.”
“Very well, then. If you insist on continuing in this belligerent manner, then I’m afraid I must ask you to gather your dead son and leave. If you do not vacate the premises by the count of five, I will be left with no choice but to kill you.”
You leave and return to your house with your dead son. Your experience with the funeral home has left you discouraged, and, feeling no motivation to try planning a service anywhere else, you elect to skip having a funeral altogether and dispose of your son’s corpse on your own.
You feel that digging a grave would be too much work, but you realize that you need to find a way to get rid of the body fast; otherwise, your kitchen will begin to stink.
You figure you should do something good with the body, and you decide to donate it to science. Unfortunately, you’re not sure how one goes about donating a body to science, so you just stick 30 or so stamps on the body bag and address it to Bill Nye the Science Guy, then drop it off at the post office.
You realize that you might’ve made the wrong choice when the funeral director starts killing you. He slams your head with a coffin lid over and over, and it hurts a ton. Honestly, it seems like a bit of an overreaction, but to be fair, the guy did warn you.
Eventually, he slams the coffin on your head to the point where you die. It’s the worst. But at least you don’t have to worry about planning that funeral anymore.
You go down to your man cave and begin watching The Scorpion King, but before the opening credits even finish, there’s a knock at the door. It’s the police.
“Did you just drop a dead kid off at the post office?” one of the officers asks.
“Yes.”
“Okay, well, you can’t do that,” he explains. “It’s really illegal. I’m going to take you to jail now.”
Once you get to jail, it becomes clear that you’re going to have to stay there for a long time. It occurs to you that you probably should’ve just given your kid a normal funeral instead of mailing him to Bill Nye the Science Guy.
Oh, well.
“Ah, good for you! You have indeed finished your toffee. It’s a marvelous treat, is it not?
“Now, let’s go select an officiant to preside over your son’s funeral.”
Your plan works perfectly, and within a few short hours, the birds have taken care of all but a finger or two of your special little guy. It’s a bittersweet feeling, but you’re comforted knowing that one day you’ll reunite with him and do ghost stuff together.
“Which officiant would you like to preside over your son’s funeral? From left to right, your choices are Reverend Calvin, a 1998 Dodge Viper, Mark, and, lastly, a Mystery Officiant.”
“Excellent choice. When it comes to talking about a dead child you never knew to a room full of people you’ve never met, there’s no one better for the job than Reverend Calvin.
“Now, let’s go select which eulogy you’d like him to deliver.”
“This is actually a car, not a human being. It is incapable of presiding over a funeral service. You’ll need to choose a different officiant. I apologize for the inconvenience.”
“Really? Mark? Forgive me for asking, but why would you possibly choose Mark to officiate your son’s funeral? He’s gone to prison twice on animal abuse charges. He’s the Pensacola Pug Crusher! Don’t you remember all those news stories?”
“Taking a gamble, are we? Good for you. I admire a man who does not shy from risk. The identity of the Mystery Officiant will be revealed to you at the beginning of your son’s funeral.
“Now, let’s go select which eulogy you’d like our unknown officiant to deliver.”
“Your favorable opinion of this man disturbs me greatly. I’m afraid I cannot open my funeral home to a man who would so eagerly embrace the Pensacola Pug Crusher. I’m sorry, but I must ask you to take your boy’s corpse and leave. You are not welcome here.”
“Here is our Big Book of Eulogies. Please, take a moment to read the different options. Or, if you find reading too burdensome, we can let my pet iguana, Danforth, choose for us.”
“Here is Eulogy 1.”
We are gathered here today to celebrate the life and memory of [DECEASED]. In my honest opinion, [DECEASED] should not have died. It made everybody sad. It made everyone remember that they will also one day die, which sucks. Also, anybody who had plans tonight had to cancel them to come to this funeral. It was selfish of [DECEASED] to do that to everyone. If he were to come back to life right now, I don’t think any of us would want to hang out with him because of what he did. In fact, I vote we all ditch this funeral right now and go to a movie. We can still salvage the night. It’s pretty clear that [DECEASED] just died for the attention, and I don’t think we should give it to him. Everything’s not about you, [DECEASED]. Grow up.
“Here is Eulogy 2.”
We gather here today to celebrate the life and memory of [DECEASED]. [DECEASED] had a lovely singing voice, and I know we’d all give anything to hear him sing just one more tune. So, what do you say, [DECEASED]? I know you’re dead, but would you use that terrific voice of yours to treat us to one final ditty? Don’t be shy. We’ll wait all night if we have to. Come forth from the spirit realm and sing us a song! We will sit here quietly and wait, and if after five hours you still haven’t sung, we will ask you once more. Thank you, [DECEASED]. We are very excited to hear you sing.
“Here is Eulogy 3.”
We are gathered here today to celebrate the life and memory of [DECEASED]. I didn’t know [DECEASED] personally, but I did once meet Flea from the Red Hot Chili Peppers. I was at a park playing catch with a friend when I accidentally threw the ball too hard, causing it to bounce away into a nearby pond. The ball could not be retrieved from shore, and I was resigned to the fact that I’d lost it for good. But then I noticed some strange bubbles surfacing in the middle of the pond. I leaned forward to take a closer look, and suddenly a hand burst from the water holding my ball. The hand belonged to Flea. He emerged from the water and walked toward me, soaking wet and fully nude. And he said to me, “I’ve been searching this very pond for this exact ball for the last 25 years of my life. Is it yours?” I said that it was, to which he replied, “Can I keep it? If you let me keep it, I’ll give you 100 percent of the royalties from my music from here on out.” It seemed like a reasonable offer, so I agreed. He thanked me profusely and then returned to the water. Ever since, I’ve received hundreds of thousands of dollars in royalties every few months. With that said, if [DECEASED] was anything like Flea, then he was an incredibly kind and generous individual, and he will be dearly missed.
“Here is your last option, Eulogy 4. Upon reading it, you will be required to make your final decision.”
What could one possibly say to summarize the life of [DECEASED]? I honestly do not know, as there is no Wikipedia page for [DECEASED]. We can assume that he never did anything notable or important; otherwise, he would have a Wikipedia. Millions of people have Wikipedias, but [DECEASED] is not one of them. Getting a Wikipedia is as easy as appearing on a reality show or making a viral video, but [DECEASED] never did any of that. If [DECEASED] had a Wikipedia, the Personal Life section would tell us who he was survived by. But he doesn’t, so we don’t know. His name will soon be forgotten to time.
“A superb choice. This eulogy will strike a chord in the hearts of everyone in attendance.
“Now, on to the matter of guest accommodation. Would you prefer that the funeral be handicap accessible?”
“I’ve fed Danforth four separate numbered marbles, with each marble corresponding to a different eulogy. Danforth will digest the four marbles and, at his convenience, emancipate them through his anus. We will go with the corresponding eulogy of whichever marble he chooses to relinquish first. Granted, this process will take a considerable amount of time—anywhere from several hours to several days—but lucky for you, I am a severely patient man.”
“Please refrain from any activity, as even the slightest of movements will make my beautiful Danforth nervous, thus inducing a timidness of disposition that could prolong our wait considerably.”
“Behold! His anus dilates!”
“He has given forth a marble, and it appears as if he has chosen Eulogy 3, which reads as follows.”
We are gathered here today to celebrate the life and memory of [DECEASED]. I didn’t know [DECEASED] personally, but I did once meet Flea from the Red Hot Chili Peppers. I was at a park playing catch with a friend when I accidentally threw the ball too hard, causing it to bounce away into a nearby pond. The ball could not be retrieved from shore, and I was resigned to the fact that I’d lost it for good. But then I noticed some strange bubbles surfacing in the middle of the pond. I leaned forward to take a closer look, and suddenly a hand burst from the water holding my ball. The hand belonged to Flea. He emerged from the water and walked toward me, soaking wet and fully nude. And he said to me, “I’ve been searching this very pond for this exact ball for the last 25 years of my life. Is it yours?” I said that it was, to which he replied, “Can I keep it? If you let me keep it, I’ll give you 100 percent of the royalties from my music from here on out.” It seemed like a reasonable offer, so I agreed. He thanked me profusely and then returned to the water. Ever since, I’ve received hundreds of thousands of dollars in royalties every few months. With that said, if [DECEASED] was anything like Flea, then he was an incredibly kind and generous individual, and he will be dearly missed.
“A superb choice from ol’ Danforth. This eulogy will strike a chord in the hearts of everyone in attendance.
“Now, on to the matter of guest accommodation. Would you prefer that the funeral be handicap accessible?”
“As you wish.
“Continuing on, you now must select a hymn with which to open the service. Your choices are:
- ‘O Father God, Magnify Our Grief’
- ‘We Offer Unto The Almighty This Child As A Snack’
- ‘There Is A Golden Hill Down Which The Dead Do Tumble’
- ‘God Our Shepherd Occasionally Leads A Lamb To Slaughter’
- ‘Great Is He Who Traps In Jars Our Souls Departed’
- ‘Alleluia! This Child Is Dead’
“Which hymn would you like to choose?”
“Ah, such a lovely hymn.
“Now, which song would you like to play for the first dance? Your choices are:
- ‘I Could Not Ask For More’ by Edwin McCain
- ‘Fly Me To The Moon’ by Frank Sinatra
- ‘Just The Way You Are’ by Billy Joel
- ‘At Last’ by Etta James
- ‘Up Where We Belong’ by Joe Cocker and Jennifer Warnes
- ‘She’s A Boogie-Woogie Funeral Gal’ by Tommy Dorsey
“Which will it be?”
“A true crowd pleaser!
“We’re now nearly finished with the planning. But first, we like to make sure that every funeral contains at least a glimmer of the deceased’s personality, and to help us do this, I was wondering if you’d be so kind as to share what types of activities your son enjoyed doing while he was still alive?”
“Ah, baseball! Excellent! We will dress him up like a tiny umpire in his coffin then.
“With that taken care of, we’ve now planned everything there is to plan for the funeral. Congratulations! The service will take place later tonight.
“Now, before we permanently lock your son’s corpse in the coffin, would you like to visit with him one last time?”
“Ah, wonderful! Well, to honor the spirit of who he truly was, we will dress him up as Goro from Mortal Kombat in his coffin.
“With that taken care of, we’ve now planned everything there is to plan for the funeral. Congratulations! The service will take place later tonight.
“Now, before we permanently lock your son’s corpse in the coffin, would you like to visit with him one last time?”
You enter the room where your son’s body is being held. It looks like he’s been behaving, so that’s good. He’s wearing makeup, which is something he never did when he was alive—at least to your knowledge. He could’ve done it in secret.
You know he can’t hear you, but you decide to say some last words to him anyway.
“As you wish. The funeral will begin in four hours. In the meantime, you can watch a video about how gloves are made.”
“Beautifully said. Truly a touching moment to witness.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must go put the finishing touches on the funeral preparations. The service begins in four hours. In the meantime, you can watch a video about how gloves are made.”
The video is both informative and entertaining, and you watch it over and over again to learn as much as you can about the glove-making process. The four hours pass quickly, however, and before you know it, it’s time for the funeral.
As you prepare to walk into the chapel, you suddenly become paralyzed with fear. Until moments ago, you’d been compartmentalizing your emotions, but now the gravity of everything hits you with full force.
Whoops, wrong room.
Whoops, wrong room again.
Here it is! You’ve made it to your son’s funeral, and everything looks exactly as you’d hoped. Reverend Calvin is on his A-game, the tunes sound perfect, and the coffin looks extremely cool. This has the potential to be one of the saddest, most awesome funerals of the year. Let’s hope the crowd feels the same way.
Oh, no! The mourners aren’t sad at all. In fact, they look like they’re having a blast. You better pump this room full of grief fast; otherwise, you’ll forever be remembered as the worst funeral planner who ever lived.
Wow, this is incredibly depressing. Surely everybody is getting bummed out now.
What? Now they’re even less sad than they were before. They’re downright ecstatic! Your son’s funeral is a disaster, and you can’t bear to watch it for a minute longer.
“Occupied!” a man shouts as you burst into an unmarked closet.
You find a dark closet where you can hide out for the rest of the funeral.
Before you can do anything, the closet suddenly goes pitch black, and an eerie fog drifts into your vision.
Ahhh! A ghost just appeared!
“Dad, relax, it’s me,” the ghost says. “It’s your son.”
“I just wanted to stop by and say that even though my funeral ended up being terrible, I still appreciate all the work you put into it,” he says. “You tried your best.”
You attempt to respond, but you’re interrupted by a loud buzzing noise, followed by a bright red light that pulses alarm-like within your son’s torso.
“Uh-oh, gotta run,” he says. “God is summoning me back to Heaven. He wants to show everyone the new song he learned on the harmonica. Bye, Dad.”
Whoa, look at him teleporting. You can still see his face, sort of. Neat.
Before he fully disappears, you whip out your phone and snap a photo. Later, you send out a fax to all the world’s biggest newspapers and magazines announcing that you have a picture of a real-life ghost that you’re willing to sell to the highest bidder. The only outlet that gets back to you is People magazine, and they say that they can’t offer you anything more than $80 million. You’re insulted, but you grudgingly accept the money and use it to buy the Arizona Coyotes.
Lose a son, gain a hockey team. Not bad. You decide to call it a wash.
Welp, it worked. You’re in Heaven now, and this is what God looks like. Apparently, the afterlife is just sitting around and watching this.
Looks like it’s gonna be “Jimmy Crack Corn” in the key of C for the rest of eternity.
“I’d like to tell you all a story,” you begin. “Once there was an old circus orangutan named Donut. Every day, he was forced to crash a motorcycle full-speed into a brick wall over and over again to entertain the paying customers. It was a terribly painful task, but if he refused to do it, the ringmaster would waterboard him with his own pee, and that was even worse. Donut was tired of living this way, so one day he decided to escape. He made a break for it midway through a performance, drawing chase from the ringmaster and his brutal goons. He narrowly escaped into the woods, but not before the ringmaster cut off one of his ears with a machete. Once out in the wild, Donut tried to make some animal friends, but he didn’t have any luck. The stress of always crashing motorcycles into a brick wall had caused him to go bald, and the other animals made fun of him for it, calling him names like ‘Bald Retard’ and ‘Hairless Mutant.’ The constant mockery drove him into a deep depression, and all day long he would wish that he could be dead. He lost 70 percent of his body weight from not eating, and he wouldn’t bother swatting away the waves of insects that swarmed all over him. Slowly and excruciatingly, the insects devoured him alive. Nothing remained of Donut except for his severed ear, which the ringmaster cast in bronze and gave to Saddam Hussein as a gift. The ear bore witness to many war crimes and atrocities. In conclusion, Donut was the most unfortunate orangutan who ever lived.”
You feel like that was an especially sad story. Hopefully it did the trick!
Whoa! The crowd looks super sad now. Looks like your story worked.
The funeral continues and the crowd remains very sad the entire time. They weep and wail incessantly for your dead son, and as a father, this makes you incredibly proud.
After the funeral, six men carry your dead son outside and put him in a hole for good. It seems the day’s events have finally come to a close—or so you think. As you turn to walk back to your car, you’re stopped by an army guy holding an American flag.
“Your son was an extraordinary little boy,” he begins. “And you gave him a truly extraordinary funeral. On behalf of the United States of America, I would like to present to you the Folded Flag of Honor. As long as you carry this flag with you, cops can’t give you speeding tickets. It’s a hero’s privilege, but you’ve earned it through and through. I salute you, sir.”
Wow. It wasn’t easy to bury your own son, but this makes it all worth it. What an incredible honor.
“Here is our Big Book of Eulogies. Please, take a moment to read the different options. Or, if you find reading too burdensome, we can let my pet iguana, Danforth, choose for us.”
“Here is Eulogy 1.”
We are gathered here today to celebrate the life and memory of [DECEASED]. In my honest opinion, [DECEASED] should not have died. It made everybody sad. It made everyone remember that they will also one day die, which sucks. Also, anybody who had plans tonight had to cancel them to come to this funeral. It was selfish of [DECEASED] to do that to everyone. If he were to come back to life right now, I don’t think any of us would want to hang out with him because of what he did. In fact, I vote we all ditch this funeral right now and go to a movie. We can still salvage the night. It’s pretty clear that [DECEASED] just died for the attention, and I don’t think we should give it to him. Everything’s not about you, [DECEASED]. Grow up.
“Here is Eulogy 2.”
We gather here today to celebrate the life and memory of [DECEASED]. [DECEASED] had a lovely singing voice, and I know we’d all give anything to hear him sing just one more tune. So, what do you say, [DECEASED]? I know you’re dead, but would you use that terrific voice of yours to treat us to one final ditty? Don’t be shy. We’ll wait all night if we have to. Come forth from the spirit realm and sing us a song! We will sit here quietly and wait, and if after five hours you still haven’t sung, we will ask you once more. Thank you, [DECEASED]. We are very excited to hear you sing.
“Here is Eulogy 3.”
We are gathered here today to celebrate the life and memory of [DECEASED]. I didn’t know [DECEASED] personally, but I did once meet Flea from the Red Hot Chili Peppers. I was at a park playing catch with a friend when I accidentally threw the ball too hard, causing it to bounce away into a nearby pond. The ball could not be retrieved from shore, and I was resigned to the fact that I’d lost it for good. But then I noticed some strange bubbles surfacing in the middle of the pond. I leaned forward to take a closer look, and suddenly a hand burst from the water holding my ball. The hand belonged to Flea. He emerged from the water and walked toward me, soaking wet and fully nude. And he said to me, “I’ve been searching this very pond for this exact ball for the last 25 years of my life. Is it yours?” I said that it was, to which he replied, “Can I keep it? If you let me keep it, I’ll give you 100 percent of the royalties from my music from here on out.” It seemed like a reasonable offer, so I agreed. He thanked me profusely and then returned to the water. Ever since, I’ve received hundreds of thousands of dollars in royalties every few months. With that said, if [DECEASED] was anything like Flea, then he was an incredibly kind and generous individual, and he will be dearly missed.
“Here is your last option, Eulogy 4. Upon reading it, you will be required to make your final decision.”
What could one possibly say to summarize the life of [DECEASED]? I honestly do not know, as there is no Wikipedia page for [DECEASED]. We can assume that he never did anything notable or important; otherwise, he would have a Wikipedia. Millions of people have Wikipedias, but [DECEASED] is not one of them. Getting a Wikipedia is as easy as appearing on a reality show or making a viral video, but [DECEASED] never did any of that. If [DECEASED] had a Wikipedia, the Personal Life section would tell us who he was survived by. But he doesn’t, so we don’t know. His name will soon be forgotten to time.
“I’ve fed Danforth four separate numbered marbles, with each marble corresponding to a different eulogy. Danforth will digest the four marbles and, at his convenience, emancipate them through his anus. We will go with the corresponding eulogy of whichever marble he chooses to relinquish first. Granted, this process will take a considerable amount of time—anywhere from several hours to several days—but lucky for you, I am a severely patient man.”
“Please refrain from any activity, as even the slightest of movements will make my beautiful Danforth nervous, inducing a timidness of disposition that could prolong our wait considerably.”
“Behold! His anus dilates.”
“He has given forth a marble, and it appears as if he has chosen Eulogy 3, which reads as follows.”
We are gathered here today to celebrate the life and memory of [DECEASED]. I didn’t know [DECEASED] personally, but I did once meet Flea from the Red Hot Chili Peppers. I was at a park playing catch with a friend when I accidentally threw the ball too hard, causing it to bounce away into a nearby pond. The ball could not be retrieved from shore, and I was resigned to the fact that I’d lost it for good. But then I noticed some strange bubbles surfacing in the middle of the pond. I leaned forward to take a closer look, and suddenly a hand burst from the water holding my ball. The hand belonged to Flea. He emerged from the water and walked toward me, soaking wet and fully nude. And he said to me, “I’ve been searching this very pond for this exact ball for the last 25 years of my life. Is it yours?” I said that it was, to which he replied, “Can I keep it? If you let me keep it, I’ll give you 100 percent of the royalties from my music from here on out.” It seemed like a reasonable offer, so I agreed. He thanked me profusely and then returned to the water. Ever since, I’ve received hundreds of thousands of dollars in royalties every few months. With that said, if [DECEASED] was anything like Flea, then he was an incredibly kind and generous individual, and he will be dearly missed.
“A superb choice from ol’ Danforth. This eulogy will strike a chord in the hearts of everyone in attendance.
“Now, on to the matter of guest accommodation. Would you prefer that the funeral be handicap accessible?”
“A superb choice. This eulogy will strike a chord in the hearts of everyone in attendance.
“Now, on to the matter of guest accommodation. Would you prefer that the funeral be handicap accessible?”
“As you wish.
“Continuing on, you now must select a hymn with which to open the service. Your choices are:
- ‘O Father God, Magnify Our Grief’
- ‘We Offer Unto The Almighty This Child As A Snack’
- ‘There Is A Golden Hill Down Which The Dead Do Tumble’
- ‘God Our Shepherd Occasionally Leads A Lamb To Slaughter’
- ‘Great Is He Who Traps In Jars Our Souls Departed’
- ‘Alleluia! This Child Is Dead’
“Which hymn would you like to choose?”
“Ah, such a lovely hymn.
“Now, which song would you like to play for the first dance? Your choices are:
- ‘I Could Not Ask For More’ by Edwin McCain
- ‘Fly Me To The Moon’ by Frank Sinatra
- ‘Just The Way You Are’ by Billy Joel
- ‘At Last’ by Etta James
- ‘Up Where We Belong’ by Joe Cocker and Jennifer Warnes
- ‘She’s A Boogie-Woogie Funeral Gal’ by Tommy Dorsey
“Which will it be?”
“A true crowd pleaser!
“We’re now nearly finished with the planning. But first, we like to make sure that every funeral contains at least a glimmer of the deceased’s personality, and to help us do this, I was wondering if you’d be so kind as to share what types of activities your son enjoyed doing while he was still alive?”
“Ah, baseball! Excellent! We will dress him up like a tiny umpire in his coffin, then.
“With that taken care of, we’ve now planned everything there is to plan for the funeral. Congratulations! The service will take place later tonight.
“Now, before we permanently lock your son’s corpse in the coffin, would you like to visit with him one last time?”
“Ah, wonderful! Well, to honor the spirit of who he truly was, we will dress him up as Goro from Mortal Kombat in his coffin.
“With that taken care of, we’ve now planned everything there is to plan for the funeral. Congratulations! The service will take place later tonight.
“Now, before we permanently lock your son’s corpse in the coffin, would you like to visit with him one last time?”
You enter the room where your son’s body is being held. It looks like he’s been behaving, so that’s good. He’s wearing makeup, which is something he never did when he was alive—at least to your knowledge. He could’ve done it in secret.
You know he can’t hear you, but you decide to say some last words to him anyway.
“As you wish. The funeral will begin in four hours. In the meantime, you can watch a video about how gloves are made.”
“Beautifully said. Truly a touching moment to witness.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must go put the finishing touches on the funeral preparations. The service begins in four hours. In the meantime, you can watch a video about how gloves are made.”
The video is both informative and entertaining, and you watch it over and over again to learn as much as you can about the glove-making process. The four hours pass quickly, however, and before you know it, it’s time for the funeral.
As you prepare to walk into the chapel, you suddenly become paralyzed with fear. Until moments ago, you’d been compartmentalizing your emotions, but now the gravity of everything hits you with full force.
Whoops, wrong room.
Whoops, wrong room again.
Here it is! You’ve made it to your son’s funeral, and everything looks exactly as you’d hoped (how cool is that coffin?!?). It’s still early, but you think this has the potential to be one of the saddest, most awesome funerals of the year.
Suddenly, the room goes black, and you’re treated to an impressive light show. This can only mean one thing: the Mystery Officiant is about to be revealed.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” an announcer’s voice booms, “give it up for your officiant!”
It’s your beautiful son!
Wait...but how?!?
“Believe your eyes, Dad,” he says. “It’s really me, your precious boy.”
“I love you so much that I would die for you,” he continues. “And I wanted to prove it. I pretended to die so that I could give you this special surprise, demonstrating my powerful love for you.”
“I held very still and did not breathe,” he says. “My love for you is greater than death.”
“My love for you is greater than death,” he repeats, and continues repeating it all the way home.
You take your son to the beach, where you playfully chuck him up in the air, as fathers sometimes do.
“Whee,” he says.
“I am having fun with my dad,” he tells you.
“My love for you is greater than death,” he whispers.
“I will never die again...” he begins.
“...unless it is with you.”
The wind howls over the water, beckoning.
“Take me to the sea,” he whispers. “Take me home.”
“Our love is greater than death. Our love is greater than death.”
You both repeat this again and again as you push forward through the waves. The night is so calm.
Soon, the water mutes your voices. Forty, 50 seconds pass. A small hand takes yours and grips it tightly, afraid. You squeeze back as if to say, Daddy’s here.
A few more moments pass. The grip releases. He’s no longer afraid.
What a nice time you’re having with your beautiful son.