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©Copyright 2009-2012 Out Of The Blue.
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By MICHELLE McALLISTER   
Published: March 21, 2012
Hasta La Vista, Baby!
Out Of The Blue  ootb646.com
The last couple of weeks, I’ve learned that death does weird
things to people. And after my short (or long, depending on
whom you ask) 40 years on this planet, I’ve also discovered
that we have some weird death rituals in our society.

I don’t know about you, but the whole funeral thing irks me out.
Am I really the only one in the whole world who finds it a little
disconcerting to stand in a line to view a dead body? I just don’
t really care to see it. Hopefully, if I knew you well I saw you in
your hey day and that’s exactly how I’d like to remember you.
If it’s me in the coffin and you didn’t see me in my hey day,
then fuck you. Don’t come walking by my dead body 20 years
after the fact feigning sadness. And if you do, I’ll come back
and haunt your ass and make sure you never have another
good night’s sleep for as long as you live. Matter of fact, my casket better be closed with the most
flattering picture you can find of me sitting right beside it. I don’t want your pity or your stupid comments
about how bad I looked. Please take heed, because let’s face it; I’m not going to have anything better to
do than make your life a living hell if you don’t.

As for the whole actual funeral service thing, I’m highly offended at the preachers who utilize the
opportunity to recruit new members into their church. Anything done in the heat of the moment filled with
emotion doesn’t stick. Sure, after you’ve just scolded me for my sinful ways for the last 30 minutes and
assured me I’ll burn in Hell for eternity for not coming up for your altar call might frighten the Be-Jeebus
out of me enough to come on up and receive your promise of everlasting life. But I’m pretty sure it’s
similar to a good drunken night on the town when I promised to *fill in the blank* for you for the rest of my
life. I won’t remember it and I probably won’t follow through. Then in the world of Catholics, I’ll have to
feel doubly guilty. So let’s just skip that whole part. Anyone who’s truly moved by the Spirit will come to
the preacher without being prodded or guilted. And that’s the truth.

Now let’s talk about the music. I swear to God (however un-appropriate that may be) that the idiot who
plays gospel or other church-y type of music at my funeral will be forever haunted by hearing the favorite
tunes of my scary dead ass on the loudest volume possible for the rest of their natural life. I’m kind
enough to warn you that for the majority of the public this will be rather disturbing, so take heed future
funeral planners. The lead off song as people are entering the venue (let’s face it, my funeral can’t
happen in a church) should be Ozzy’s Crazy Train. I’m also very partial to Queen. Since Freddie and I
won’t be in attendance, Bohemian Rhapsody probably won’t be feasible unless you can book Queen
with Adam Lambert accompanied with a full choir. That would be fucking awesome. I guess if that falls
through you could always play Another One Bites the Dust as a substitute. And as they roll my cold
dead, ugly body out of the venue I want Green Day’s Good Riddance playing. I also expect that everyone
in attendance be crying their fucking eyes out at this point because you’ll miss my crazy ass. And if you
don’t plan on the hysterical crying at this point, please stay at home. I don’t want anyone happy I’m dead.

Afterwards, I fully expect a carb-laden celebration where the vodka and toilet paper are abundant. And by
all means take a skinny dip in the pool I didn’t get to enjoy to the fullest. The neighbors can’t really see
you, and even if they can, they will raise a glass to me and thank me. Or curse me. Either way is good
with me.

And you can end it with Pink Floyd’s Wish You Were Here.
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