When I Die…

Donate my body to science, but cool science, like MythBusters.

Memorialize me by building a giant shark tank in the middle of town, then throw Mark Cuban into it.

Bury me in a rented tuxedo from Men’s Wearhouse.

Update my Tinder profile to the past tense, “Loved spending time outdoors. Used to be a foodie. Enjoyed watching Netflix. Had a job. Wasn’t just looking to hook-up.”

Use the font from Tombstone pizza on my tombstone. It should read, “Drowned in a R.I.P. tide”

Lower my coffin into the ground with a crane built entirely from Erector Sets.

Pay former American Gladiators to perform a 21-gun salute with the tennis ball launcher from the Assault Arena.

Write this on my toe tag at the morgue — “$19.95”.

Honor my memory by undercooking the chicken at the wake. I want people to continue remembering me for days to come.

Leave me on a ride at Disneyland.

Roll me up inside of a rug, put me in the trunk, and then try to return the rug without a receipt.

Donate my clothes to someone you hate.

Carry my coffin through Times Square, stop a group of German tourists, ask them to hold it for a second, then run away.

Feed me to the fishes… at Marine World.

Use my lifeless body to perform a live production of Weekend At Bernie’s.

Have me declared an extinct species, because there will never be another like me.

Launch me into outer space with a note pinned to my astronaut suit that says, “Don’t mess with Earth, or else….”.

Embalm me with Gak.

Bury me with my vast wealth and assorted treasures — the popcorn machine, my Thundercats lunchbox, and my Romex watch.

Take me skydiving and don’t pull the chute.

At the funeral, think about my mortality, not your own. This is my big day.