Putting the 'Fun' in Funeral
Have you ever contemplated suicide? I certainly have. I wouldn't consider myself a depressed, melancholy or suicidal person in any way, but I've surely spent a good amount of hours pondering what it would be like to top myself, and how I'd actually go about doing it. I think it's quite a normal thing to think about. I haven't ever been anywhere close to doing it, but there is something so eerily intriguing about death and suicide that always makes me think about my own death. I ask myself questions like, 'How will it happen?', 'When will it happen?', and 'Who will come to my funeral?' These answers remain mysteries to me, mainly because I am yet to meet a genie who can predict the future for me, and I must say that if I ever do, I'll be granting myself three wishes instead of finding out how and when I die: an endlessly cash-filled wallet, a never-ending bag of DMT and Jennifer Hawkins permanently chained to my pants... Sploosh!
Fuck being able to predict your own demise when you can fucking fly all over the place, with an infinite amount of cash in your wallet and Jessica Alba permanently strapped to your cock. Knowing when you're going to die must feel like when you've drank too much wine and you feel like you're going to spew in your girlfriend's car as she drives you home, but you don't want to tell her to pull over because you're almost home and you don't want to feel emasculated. Then you start to feel it coming up from your guts and into your throat, and you admit to yourself that you can't hold it in, and you try to say, “I'm gonna spew,” but only manage to release an, “I'm gulergh--,” sound that doesn't give your girlfriend enough warning to either pull over or dodge the vomit that's now sitting on her lap and shampooing her hair.
We all know what that feels like.
I think if I was ever going to commit suicide I'd have to go out doing something extremely dangerous. Like some sort of stunt that if I made it I'd become some sort of minor celebrity, like, “Hey, that's the guy that jumped off the roof of ANZ stadium at the AC/DC concert and landed on the giant inflatable Red Bull can”. If I made it, I'd be a legend. If not, well, I was planning on killing myself anyway. And I'd probably still go on to be some sort of a legend, just a dead one. The idea of overdosing on drugs or going out in a killing spree never appealed to me. Sure, I love getting fucked up and I've definitely been keen to shoot some motherfuckers in my day, but when it comes to suicide, I'd much prefer the classic elegance of jumping off something huge.
If I ever did somehow find out the exact time and circumstance of my death though, I'd have a huge fuck-off party. Not just any old 'Last Night On Earth, Let's Party' party. No - they're so overdone. If I knew that one morning I'd be waking up a corpse, I'd host my own goddamn funeral. Everything except for the priest, fuck them. I'd have all my close friends and family, as in everyone who I'd HOPE to attend my funeral, plus anyone else down to party with me, to come to my house around 6 pm for drinks. I'd kick off the proceedings with some of my favorite slow jams being played softly behind the speeches made by my best mates and all that usual funeral crap.
I'm sure it'd be real sad and tears would flow for my soon to be deceased body, but then when all the silly, soppy stuff was done and out of the way, I'd chuck on some Led Zeppelin, release the strippers and wheel out the mountain of cocaine I'd spent my entire life savings on. Some people have ice sculptures or chocolate fountains or slushy machines at their parties, I like to have big piles of cocaine, and hey, I wouldn't be needing any of my money anymore, would I?
Imagine being able to attend your own wake. Nobody's done that before, ever, I think. Unless we all get to as ghosts, which would be really wicked because that's the reason why I began writing this article in the first place. Who the fuck will go to my funeral? I'd like to think that many people would, but you never know. I'm sure, certain actually, that many people despise me behind my back, and you know what, I don't really give two shits. But I'd be downright disappointed if I had a mediocre funeral. It's your last chance to throw some sort of shindig for your loved ones, and you don't want to let them down, do you? I'd have a party so awesome that even those fuckers that hate my guts wouldn't want to miss out.
Being at your own funeral would make you feel invincible. You'd be able to ingest as much drugs and alcohol as you wanted and not have to worry about being hungover in the morning, or getting sick, or not being able to remember anything, or even being too fucked up to pick up any girls. In the morning, you'd be dead. There'd be absolutely nothing to worry about!
The women would surely be throwing themselves on top of you too. If I was at some babe's funeral and all she wanted was a good root before kicking the bucket, I'd be more than willing to oblige her. It'd probably happen a few times, I reckon. You might even be able to finally have that threesome you've always dream about. No harm in asking, right? What is there to be embarrassed about anyway? You're dead tomorrow, and have automatically gained the sympathy of almost everyone who knew you. (I say almost because there's always a couple of those heartless pricks at each funeral who genuinely couldn't give a fuck about the person who carked it, they're just there for the free food.)
The more I think about this idea the more I want to do it. If only I knew when I was going to die. Which brings me back to the whole suicide chestnut. Maybe I could throw a party, my funeral, and then just kill myself in the morning by jumping off the roof onto a tiny trampoline or something. If it doesn't work out properly, what's the worst that could happen? I live and forever become known as the dude who outwitted the Grim Reaper and was very present, and very inebriated, at his own funeral.
I think I could live with that.
31ST JULY 2012