I’ve been tasked by my wife to plan my own funeral.  Its not that she’s planning on me kickin’ off any time soon, its that she’s incredibly afraid that I actually will (before she does) and that she’ll be in no condition to make any decisions.  Fair enough, right?

Well, death is something I’m actually looking forward to.  I regularly think as days go by, that I’m one day closer to death.  And if you know me, I’d hope that you’d agree I’m anything but morbid.  The truth is, I’m looking forward to it.  Not the process of dying mind you, just the event itself; the moment when I pass from one location to another.  The short trip begins and ends in the time it’ll take my last breath to leave my lungs.

Now, back to my funeral.  First of all, you’re invited.  All I ask is that you laugh more than cry.  And I plan on making sure that’ll happen.  In fact, it’d be really great if your guts hurt by the time you left.  Go ahead, laugh it up.  I sure will be!  Also, if you plan on hanging around, pick up a bucket at KFC on your way.  I figure if everybody brings a little, we’ll have a lot.  Not to mention, who doesn’t want to be around someone with a bucket of chicken?  You’ll probably make some new friends–MY friends, so you better treat them well.

The music at my funeral will consist of sing-along tunes so you can, uh, sing along.  Some of my favorite top-of-my-lungs-alone-in-the-car tunes include classics like “Living on a Prayer”, “The Piano Man”, and whatever the name of that song is by Four Non-Blondes–you know the one where she sings “And I scream to the top of my lungs, ‘What’s going on!?!'”  You know that one.  And I’ll probably throw in a Christmas tune no matter what time of year it is because after all, who doesn’t like Christmas (I mean, besides Jews and atheists)?  I will not however be having karaoke.  That’s just tacky.

Now, who do I want to give the message?  I don’t know.  I honestly don’t know.  No one knows me like my wife does and I can bet my last life insurance dollar that she’s not getting up and saying jack squat, you can take that to the bank.  So, I’ll have to think about it.  If you’d like to apply for the position, email me an essay in 1,000 words or less why you’d do a good eulogy.  Oh wait, I just remembered Rob.  Rob has probably read my blog as much as my Mom.  Maybe more (sorry Mom).  And he always says really nice things about it.  So, I think Rob is definitely a front-runner at this point.  You’re welcome, Rob.

Okay, so we’ve covered food (don’t forget the bucket), we’ve got music taken care of, and I’ve given Rob the preliminary head-nod on the whole eulogy thing.  What else is left?  Oh yeah, the dancers.  Can somebody make sure there are back-up dancers?  And not fresh-out-of-dance-school dancers.  I want good ones.  Preferably 50 and older.  Seasoned veterans.

Well, that just about covers it.  I hope you’ll come and enjoy looking at my smiling face (don’t worry, I’ll be smiling) one last time.  I hope you have a great time at my funeral, and I hope that reading this has made you think about yours.

Don’t forget that bucket of chicken.  Thanks.