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Dana Taylor's Funeral
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Dana Taylor's Funeral
I will die at the age of 27, shot by a former lover, but let's be honest: I had it coming. The ambulance attendants will try, unsuccessfully to restore life to my shot, stabbed and kicked body. My last words: "I'm still not admitting I'm wrong." Last rites will be performed by the pope who just happened to be walking by.
My family and friends will take the news of my death pretty hard, my friends will grieve by gatering together and telling nice stories about me, then drink their faces off in a good old fashioned wake. My family will grieve in exactly the same manner. My father will tell the story of the time we caught the biggest pike on Manatoulin island, my friend Jarrod will tell the story of the time I got mad at him and froze all his clothes at a party. There won't be a dry eye in the house.
The nation will be in a state of mourning. Flags will fly at half mast, services will be held at most places of worship. (Mormons will not hold services for me as they think I am the devil.)
U2 will come out with a song not two days later celebrating my life, it will actually be a remake of their 1990 song, "Lemon." No one wil notice. Sensing the grief of the nation Prime Minister Alexa McDonough will declare July a national holiday, school children and teachers won't notice. My funeral will be three days later on what some will call the coldest, wettest, and bestest day they can remember. The service will be heald at Dodger stadium, which was moved to London to accommodate the need for seating capacity. Tickets will be only $19.35, with a 15% discount for anyone I've ever kissed on the mouth. This discount will hurt profits in a way that can only be described as "disturbing."
Upon enterting the stadium guests will be greated with the visitation hymn "Take me out to the ball game." After standing in line for 1 and 1/2 hours guests will be able to pay their last respects. Since I was shot, repeated, it will be a closed casket ceremony. My casket will be simple, made out of diamonds and mud. On top of the casket a single fig leaf, a symbol of my never ending pursuit of knowledge and Fig Newtons. Seating in the stadium will be arranged in alphabetical order, with people who are really good at starting "the wave" placed together in the centre field area where they can't hurt anyone.
The service will be presided over by my close friend, Jesus, with special guest speakers Col. Sanders (Ret.), Sammy David Jr. and the Incredible Hulk, who sadly, will not get mad. The half time show will feature Britney Spears, the cast of Growing Pains, and my good friend Ian Lynch who will lead the crowd in singing "We are the Champions." A very special moment will come when the little kid from The Sixth Sense runs down to the field, and like an idiot, salutes my casket.
The service will conclude with a video montage of my life set to the musical stylings of Lynard Sknard's "Freebird." No one will cry, but six or seven people will think about it.
After leaving the service, my body and a small group of close family and circus midgets will be flown to the north of England where my body will be buried in an unremarkable grave on a small hill. Close family friend, Jay Campbell will say a few words, upon finishing a twenty-one gun salute, will pierce the thick fog as a lone bagpipe player plays a very sad song indeed. My body will then be laided to rest and people will say goodbye.
The inscription etched into the side of the small tombstone will read: "Sir Dana Robert Dennison Taylor: A man for no seasons. 1981-2008. He came, he saw, he ate, he left." And no one will ever visit my grave because on a tree nearby, there will hang a sign that says in very big letters: NO SOLICITING.