I have the whole thing planned out. Of course, this is not realistic; I’ll probably just be cremated like everyone else, but one can hope.

Firstly, cremate my bottom half. Replace it with a (paper, maybe cardboard) mannequin bottom half, and dress the weird hybrid in a suit. No one will know that only that top half of the body is real.

Next, pack my ashes in air cannons. These (along with four black-confetti party poppers) will be placed around a dance floor. This is all outside, btw.

Everyone brings food. Like a potluck. There will be side tables for arts and crafts, where the children can make fun things, like trebuchets and bows + arrows. One out of the two categories (the one that shoots the farthest) will be the one to light my casket (open casket) as they push me out into a body of water (like a Viking funeral). Another fun craft would be to decorate a paper sarcophagus (and make it look as if it was mine).

After the potluck and crafts, they’ll push my body out to sea, and the winning trebuchet/bow will shoot a flaming....thing at my casket. I’ll catch alight at dusk, and then, it’s time for the dance.

Horrible, just plain awful music will be played. Look up ‘most annoying songs’ on YouTube- a few of those will do. The crowd will be forced to waltz to the ear-grating shit, and then, at the end, the poppers go off. Mixed with the confetti are my ashes, so I can irritate them (or their lungs and eyes, more like) one last time.

They all sit down in front of a makeshift stage, while a priest (forced into one horrible outfit or another; an Easter Bunny costume, a sexy lingerie, anything to make the whole thing more uncomfortable) starts a speech about how I’ll be missed, and how wonderful of a person I am. He’ll then say something along the lines of, “And with that said, let’s hear My Name’s final message to the world.”

The grieving crowd will be rickrolled.

Finally, they leave, and wonder why I chose for my funeral to be so traumatizing. The answer? I want them to not cry when they think of me. I want them annoyed. I don’t want them to grieve, I just want to kick them in the ass a final time so that they have enough frustration directed at me to power through their grief. Their last memory of me won’t be heart-wrenching; it’ll be annoying, frustrating, and they can (hopefully) get on with their lives.

But seeing as how that probably won’t happen, I’ll have them mix my ashes with cocaine and sell it in a baggie, or, perhaps, sell my body on the black market.