Top 11 things I want for my own death

by DMtShooter, Five Tool Tool.com

Today’s exercise in listy morbidity was inspired by (what else?) the passing of Michael Jackson, which more or less ended Twitter’s obsession with green avatars, Facebook’s obsession with taking some random quiz to tell you what kind of noun you’d be in a greater collection of nouns, and cable television’s unfortunate predilection towards whatever the hell they were yammering about, because blogging does not, even on its best day, pay me enough to endure Glenn Beck.

But really, the person I feel bad for here is Farrah Fawcett. The woman died of anal cancer — yes, anal cancer — in prolonged agony. She left behind a better acting career than you’d give her credit for, and, of course, That Poster. And she might have been in the media awareness for about, oh, four hours, between the South Carolina earth-walking philanderer-governor and this generation’s freaky Elvis. It’s wrong. And it’s not something I want to see repeated when it’s my time to go.

11) My own day. You hear me, rest of the world? No dying for a day before, and a day after. Die on your own time, or my ghost is coming back to ruin some property values.

10) Continuing product. Hendrix, Shakur, Cobain… death does not stop them from continuing to put out new product. (I’ll just prep an intern, or sell the intellectual property rights of making lists. Big money in that.)

9) Competing images. Give it up to MJ for this: there is no definitive B-roll of footage to show during the memorial segment, because the dude had a dozen different looks. Don’t make it easy on the media, people. Make ‘em work for it.

8) Mystery. Missing body? Corrupt coroner’s office? Unconfirmed sightings from exotic locations? Bizarre rumors of cryogenics, cloning and fakery? I’m down with all that. Let’s keep building the brand.

7) Freaky post-mortem heroics. When Philadelphia Flyers goaltender Pelle Lindbergh died (and yes, I’m old, it happened a long time ago), the media made a lot out of his organ donation, which allowed some other people to live. That’s fairly cool, but only if you can really time this out. A kidney to a hot chick, good. A liver to some ancient geezer? Not so much.

6) Inexplicable spectacle. A funeral service where an elaborate custom animation of turtles playing poker on an endless loop where no on ever bets? Check. A closed see-through casket which slowly unveils twin raised middle fingers? I’ll take three, and have them move around in a monte game. Some form of parade that’s ripped off from “The Prisoner”, and drunken singing from “The Wire”? Check and mate. A final and fitting end where I manage to confuse and annoy while amusing myself to death? You’re getting me, dear reader. Too late, but so be it.

5) Complimentary narcotics with a commemorative keepsake. Sure, my body may be gone, but my memory — and your Five Tool Tool syringe — is forever.

4) Random acts of violence. Someone, for the love of all that is holy, give someone else a chair shot. It’s what I would have wanted.

3) Unseemliness. Who is the mysterious woman in black with a veil, speaking to no one? My murderer, mistress, love child, or just a random actress hired for the day to spice things up? Some things, I take to the grave.

2) Ongoing beef. Would we remember Pac with Biggie, and would both guys be as big without the other? Hell no. Just need to plan ahead, really.

1) At least 10 spectators. We couldn’t have a list without at least 10, right?

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