In the Event of My Funeral (A Living Will)

Maybe I will be here maybe I will not,

But if I kick this can under a train to the pancake face splattered

Or an explosion in my neural matter

I want you to read this at my ash burial procedure post-cremation

With disbursement of my scarred innards and bones

That were not able to be sold on EBay to support the greater charities of this earth

Like the A. D. guilt-free fund so here I bequeath

My Magic cards to my brother so he can sell them for the pursuit of rock and roll

This world with a smile and soul earnest and honest to keep his promise

Of that Cyclops card on a blue carpet hallway that there are lines you can cross

As long as you accept the consequences of what might be lost

Being yourself is always worth the chase and come what may

In the lawn over by whoever has bothered to come please get

A Sharpie pen, a poster board and raised high for all to relay that today

The greatest bastard to ever live is now laid to rest,

Please put some stars and sparkles and let me know if the press shows

By shoveling melting Fruiti pops on my remains

And in monastic collective chant belt out, “Two Fifteen” a dozen times

Throw in a copy of Rancid’s “And Out come the Wolves” and something from my daughter.  Set me to life and everybody hold hands like grade school and sing

Corazon de Oro from Rancid’s “Life Won’t Wait” album

And if I found her by this point in time than let her shed a tear

And somebody hold her hand

For my daughter, I want you to go find that brown bear we put your stuffed

Animals in when you were five and have Uncle Greg roll you around in it with

Your bike helmet on if you want down a hill or somewhere near by

And laugh loud enough to cry if you need to

To my friend Jason, I want you to bring a full Deanie’s seafood platter and pick a partner and eat the whole thing in one sitting in front of everybody and have them cheer the two of you on, At the end I want everybody to raise a glass to say

“He had the metabolism of a hamster on methamphetamines in high school

All hail gluttonous consumption of crustaceans and fried breaded shards of sea life!”

And if A shows up tell her to wear a jack o lantern on her head

Because she was always a two-faced Halloween costumed persona who fooled me

For so long hollow and rotting out from the inside, please let her know that I would

Have forgiven her if only she genuinely asked, but she would have to approach a frozen hell when she makes her own exit for that to probably happen

So I have kept these words until now because there is no place left for me to keep them, but given that she is hearing them, tell her in a big bad ass voice,

“I can no longer forgive you and you have hurt me more than anyone ever has, May everyone here turn around form a line hold you down and spit in your mouth”

The way Mike did to me when I was six, and if she fails to show please put the pumpkin on a pedestal and spit in the it just the same.

To my mom and dad, you were great parents, to mom I forgive you for almost letting me choke to death at that swim meet and I am asking you now to say Amadeus Amadeus,

Amadeus, Amadeus until you start laughing,

Dad please make up all the conspiracy theories about my death because some how they are all true and read them aloud to the crowd and get Mike to yell out random Hell yeas at intervals in your speech, just because it makes it funny and please God laugh, laugh

And know that death is random and inevitable and nothing for metaphors because the dead don’t write metaphors to give valid comparisons to be included in literature

And at the end of whatever reverent and solemn stuff you want to fill in the blanks with,

I want everyone to stand up and scream at the top of their lungs a one two three count and then the words, “Not my Honda Viva la E, Viva la resistance.”

Oh and please have this printed real big or on a projection screen so that everyone can read it and know that these were my wishes and no one is crazy but me or

Trying to dishonor my memory except for the Atlanta Falcons, who can all go to hell. 

Go Saints. Go.

Afterwards please have a reception playing sixties soul music from Otis Redding and Sam Cooke, as well as 90’s punk from Rancid, a few Avett Brothers Song including Murder in the City and stuff from Greg’s selections

Add a roundtable of everyone in the room blurting out one of the following three words as loud as they can, Shamalamadingdong, Cock-knocker, or Snot-blaster, and

When all irreverence has dispatched please light a match and burn some of my old clothes in a pile just to see the flames.  Then walk away move on and watch it all on videotape when you miss me. 

And in the end I would like to be cremated and made into cigarettes with little labels that say death sticks and either kept in a make shift box that says things about me on Greg’s mantle or mailed to George Lucas.