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Wednesday, March 17, 2004
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NOW, I'M AS NARCISSITIC AS THE NEXT GUY...
But I doubt that I would go this far (NOTE: USE EXTREME CAUTION WITH THIS LINK.) There's a lot to be said about letting your friends and relatives keep an eye on your progress after you die, but it seems to me that installing lighting and a webcam in your casket is a tad much.
Besides, I decided last October what I'm doing with my remains once I kark it. I've always been uncomfortable with the idea of funerals or memorials or any of that shit. And don't get me started on a plot that people can visit. Fuck that. This, of course, posed some practical problems. Problems like how do I avoid any of that crap? Well, I could croak out in such a way that they never find the body, but that's very hard to control, particularly when you're, you know, dead and all.
So I thought and I thought and I thought my little heart out until I had it figured out. As we all know, figurin' is my strong suit. I'll donate my body to the University of Toronto Medical School. They'll carve and hack and remove stuff and giggle at my microscopic penis (Thankfully, I think they peel the face off during autopsy and don't bother putting it back if the body isn't turned over to the family) and maybe somebody gets an eye or something helpful out of it. Then when I get (even more) useless or particularly gamey, they take me out back and burn me in a dumspter or something. No muss, no fuss. Science makes a few steps forward, other people get some organs that I'm no longer using and most importantly, everyone around me gets to forget I ever existed almost immediately after I kick it. Everybody wins.
Then came the story of UCLA's body donation scandal. Turns out the guy they hired to clean up another scandal (who knew dead people were so tempting for mischief?) liked selling off the body parts of the donors. It was then that I fell in love with the idea. Complete anonymity and utter obliteration AND somebody makes a buck off it! It's perfect. The idea that I've made absolutely nothing out of my life and the second it ends, some shyster milks a few grand out of my useless (yet darling) components is an almost poetic commentary on my very existence. I couldn't write it any better myself. Well, I suppose I just did. Opps.
Now I just need to figure out a way to contract a really fast acting cancer or something. Sorry, but there are some ideas that I get really enthusiastic about and I tend to obsess on them until I solve them. I'm funny that way, I guess.
Oh, and just so everybody doesn't think I was out trolling for death, I found the above link at Burnt Fuse. The lovely and talented Jane disapproves of it. I, decidedly do not. She feels the entire venture is "sick and motherfucking twisted." I feel that it represents utter enlightenment on the total depravity of the human condition. That someone would make that kind of investment in money and technology to watch someone decompose in a box, or better yet, BE watched decomposing in a box, says a lot more about mankind than I could ever hope to with this stupid, fucking blog.
And how can anyone say that I'm not the happiest man alive?
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