But I remember my sense of outrage, years ago, when I read that the morticians association had managed to bribe enough Texas legislators to get a law enacted forcing you to be cremated in a coffin that they sold you. WTF? Everything else aside, like the vast waste, and finding a way to fuck over family with extra unescessary expenses when they’re extremely vulnerable and suffering, I can only imagine how many times some coffins got sold and resold and not burned.

I have no idea if that law is still in effect, but I had the same reaction as John Goodman had with the $180 can. Inarticulate rage at the brazen greed of it.

And, yeah, as much as it’s a good thing to avoid death as hard as possible, it’s the meaning you give to your life that counts.

Of course, the longer I can manage to stick around, the better my chances of finding some meaning.

Quality > Quantity

And hello, cousin.

I hadn’t thought of the fireworks – good idea. Mick is taking my ashes to the beach and I will forever be warm.

I was thinkin’ that Steve and Laura might want to add to the family eyeball collection, for instance.

If any of you Brainiacs want any of the other body parts, beside the brain, which is Rachael’s, we can probably work something out.

For a price….

I had a great-uncle who was a chemist, [William Richards], who worked for Loomis in his laboratory for about fifteen years. He ended up writing a novel about his experience there that was called “Brain Waves and Death”; it was based on the brain-wave experiments that Loomis was doing at the dime. “Brain Waves and Death was published in January of 1940, just as a lot of experiments and war research was being done in this country and abraod.
Richard who wrote the novel, committed suicide in March 1940.

It would be interesting to see if there is a suicidal thread in the novel, or was his suicide “assisted”.

I hope this isn’t too far off topic.

Bill

No one is dying on my watch. That’s the freaking rule. I mean it. I won’t have my friends dying first. I don’t like being alone and who the hell would I talk to in that circumstance?

I’m with Rachael here: Just Say, “No” to Death.

Besides, who would I torment for playing “Born Under A Bad Sign” in anything other than “G?” Nope, forget all this morbid dying shit. I mean it. Don’t make me come up there…

When Maureen and I attended a Body Worlds exhibit I gathered up the brochures on body donation. I thought it would be pretty cool to be plastinated.

The catch is they don’t guarantee they will use your whole body. They might just need an organ or two. Or maybe you have a particularly interesting knee joint.

I can imagine Adam taking his children to an exhibit some time in the future and saying, “Look kids, I think that’s grandpa’s patella.”

However, everybody I know is wayyyy more verbally facile than anybody in TBL.

…I suppose that, if we wanted to save money all around, y’all could just spirit the body away, place it at the foot of the Dark Tower, and let nature take its accustomed course…

Me, I hope that by the time I die I’ve got enough money to make a freakish punitive will a possibility. I’d have myself stuffed and mounted in a coat-rack worthy pose — think Rodin’s John the Baptist. If you want a chunk of the money, you’ve got to put me in your front hall for part of the year, the rotation depending on how much of my stuff you get. My insides would be turned into tasty processed meat snacks and distributed at the wake. If the wake is worth a shit, there’ll be enough bad judgment by the end of the evening to guarantee consumption.

Frankly, I’m just jealous of whoever runs across the post-oafboy yard sale.