People get really dedicated to what’s printed on their tombstones. Both men and women want inscriptions that are both meaningful and show their life held value.
HERE LIES SHARON.
MOTHER. DAUGHTER. SISTER. STEPMOM. WIFE. NAG.
While walking in the cemetery the other day, I noticed an unusually marked tombstone.
You may wonder why I was wandering through a cemetery.
Besides the fact that the groundskeeper is an old Tinder flame, I’m a writer with nothing better to do than drive 5 minutes to stare at a rock with Bruce Lee’s name written on it.
Back to the tombstone.
There was no name, no sentiment, no date printed on this rock that’s supposed to display where one’s body is located. Or when that person was alive. Just two lines of medieval type face.
ALL THE WORLD’S A STAGE.
THE MEN AND WOMEN? MERELY PLAYERS.
Someone must have been very popular on slam poetry night.
Players? Chris the varsity football captain?
Or players, Christof the struggling gay actor?
It was unclear.
What was clear standing in that cemetery is that I fail to see the value of the tombstone.
I would like to use my tombstone to unveil a horrible family secret.
Hire someone to pull back a strategically placed velvet drape.
UNCLE BRIAN HIT A HOOKER WITH HIS CAR.
HE LIED AND SAID IT WAS A DEER.
My funeral will double as a black tie themed intervention for a family member.
To assist with this, I will leave whatever’s left in my bank account to Dr. Jeff from A&E’s Intervention.
The money won’t be to head up Uncle Brian’s intervention but for him to sit in the front row at my eulogy so people think we were old lovers.
I’d also settle for a controversial inscription. Just call somebody random out.
“It was never my job to make you happy, Catherine.”
I don’t know a Catherine. Don’t plan on meeting a Catherine anytime soon.
Through the magic of Craiglist, a hired telenovela actress playing Catherine will make a dramatic entrance mid way through the proceedings.
Now you’ve got a black tie intervention murder mystery party with Dr. Jeff from A&E.
Confusing. Random. Ashton approved.
Don’t Cry for Me
If the amount of tears shed by attendants determines our value there’s no time for secrets or drama.
I need to Sarah Maclachlan the shit out of my tombstone.
It’ll have my name showing where I lived.
It shows I was living to witness the union of Dennis Rodman and Carmen Electra.
And much like Carmen, come to terms with my own scarring experience.
MOLESTED IN 1998
Good luck beating that.
Rest in Meme
In the future, they’ll have tombstone printers where you just point to which internet meme you want printed on your tombstone.
“Me cutting toxic people out of my life.”
With a picture of Edward scissorhands cutting a strand of hair below it.
It shows people you tolerated the early work of Tim Burton.
And if for some reason the future doesn’t remember Edward Scissorhands, everyone will think you were an albino serial killer.
In case you haven’t seen it. Edward Scissorhands is a movie starring Johnny Depp who is an uncomfortable man forced to wear shitty makeup by an Avon lady.
Police arrive on the scene.
Officer: “Miss what happened here?”
Avon Lady: “Well I wandered into an abandoned mansion and found an albino covered in open wounds. He had tattered clothes and scissors on his hands. So I brought him back to my house and caked his face in thick layers of hot makeup from the dashboard of my car. There are only 2 things you can do with those deformed hands. Serve my friends kebabs while giving them erotic haircuts.”
Did Edward get a tombstone? Doesn’t he die at the end of that movie?