Burial, cremation or other?

[lone wolf]

Find me ten square feet. Mix my ashes into good rich earth and plant a sexed pot seed (or female clone) Tend it with loving care, nipping her and pruning as required. Following the second frost in October, harvest and clean and cure. Then, everyone can have a toot on me....

Woof!

 

[karrie]

that's an awfully complicated way to go about being cremated twice wolf.

 

[lone wolf]

Closest to immortality I'm gonna get....

Woof!

 

[triedit]

I want a closed casket at the viewing. I don't want anyone going past and saying "She looks so natural". The ulitmate insult. Hopefully I looked better alive than dead.

Give away any parts that are useful for transplant or science or even for the CSI people to practice on.

Then if there's anything left just creamate me and dump the ashes in the Ohio River.

 

[karrie]

I want a closed casket, depending on how I died. If I died like my aunt, after months of pain and exhaustion, leave the damn thing open so people can see that I'm not in pain anymore.

 

[Dreadful Nonsense]

Nice idea. One way or another we're all going to end up back in the food chain anyway, might as well give Mother Nature a hand...
Agreed. Grief, while a certain amount of it is unavoidable, seems essentially selfish to me, because it's about ourselves, what we have lost. You have to work your way through it--and it *is* work--but it shouldn't last a long time. I grieved the death of my parents, but not for a long time, it was inevitable and natural and necessary, and when it finally happened, it was time. Past time, actually, their final few years were pretty miserable for them. A few days after my father died one of my brothers and I got together, he brought a bottle of fine old Irish whisky, I had a 12 year old single malt scotch, we sat up all night, drank both bottles, dredged up every nasty rotten thing, every mistake, we could ever remember dad doing, and completely purged ourselves of all the negatives. After that we were free to mourn our loss and remember him with great love for all the good things he was and did, and now, only the positives remain. He was a good but imperfect man, as are we, and he loved us without reservation, as we do our children. That's all that matters.

It was an excellent catharsis, I recommend it.

great post Dexter....

The absense of all the hocus pocus afterlife is refreshing as well.....

For me ...it's up to you where ya are going and no one left here can help you with that....

 

[hermanntrude]

I don't intend to die.

But if I must ... bury me as long as you make damn sure I'm dead first.

the victorians had a widespread fear that they'd be buried alive, since certain diseases can leave you unconscious with no detectable respiration or pulse. The response was to create coffins with small holes in, through which were connected some pulleys and strings so that if anyone woke inside their coffin they could pull on the strings which'd ring a bell at the surface.

 

[hermanntrude]

I want to be plasticised so everyone can admire my beauty

 

[IdRatherBeSkiing]

the victorians had a widespread fear that they'd be buried alive, since certain diseases can leave you unconscious with no detectable respiration or pulse. The response was to create coffins with small holes in, through which were connected some pulleys and strings so that if anyone woke inside their coffin they could pull on the strings which'd ring a bell at the surface.

Thats sounds like a great idea. Do they still make those pulleys and bells?

 

[Vereya]

It's cremation for me. I don't want to see my body rot after I die. We believe that the souls lingers for some time here after you die. Not far from the body. And if the body is cremated, the souls gets to where it is supposed to much faster.
By the way, in Russia cremation is much more expensive than interrment. I wonder, is it the same way in the West?

 

[Unforgiven]

Oh I have some very particular plans for when I kick the bucket. On the first day of the twelve days of mourning, I want the first person to find me to dress me in silk pajamas and an exotic smoking jacket and slippers. I then want 15 of the most beautiful and expensive escorts, decked out in slinky lingerie to lay about the bed weeping unconsolably. Then an announcement in all the papers of all the major cities in Canada and the US stating that I have passed on.

On the second day of the twelve days of mourning I want, after the coroner has figured out what killed me and pronounced that officially, I want to be lovingly prepared by 4 young sexy morticians, a 22 year old female Swedish makeup artist in a bikini, and red rose petals surrounding my table. My head shaved, nails trimmed and a nice shave with warm lather.

On the third day of the twelve days of mourning I want, my car prepared with a full tank of gas, oil change, and detailed inside and out so that it's as clean as a hounds tooth. All my music loaded onto a 300 gig mp3 player and the scent of sandal wood with a hint of patchouli infused in warm oil and rubbed into the wood work.

On the four day of the twelve days of mourning I want to be dressed in a pimpin zoot suit with a reit pleat, hat and cane. My pocket watch, $3000 in hundreds in my money clip on my right hip and a flask of Bushmills Blackbush in my inside coat pocket. In the trunk a keg of Guinness and four one pint bar glasses from Ireland.

On the fifth day of the twelve days of mourning I want, to be set upon a large oak chair with my pimpin hat pulled down slightly to shade my eyes and before me my wife and those loyal to me to to commit Seppuku and their bodies prepared for ritual burial.

On the sixth day of the twelve days of mourning I want, to be placed in my car where my wife and those loyal to me have been already placed and the music started. I want 40 mourners to openly weep and wail with uncontrollable lunges toward the car crying "why, why?" The car started and locked and the room sealed so the mourners will die of carbon monoxide asphyxiation.

On the seventh day of the twelve days of mourning, I want the building sealed up in brick and then parged with lead and finally sheathed in stainless steal and welded to form an air tight seal.

On the eighth day of the twelve days of mourning I want Pink Floyd with Roger Waters to perform Dark Side Of The Moon from the roof top of the building live.

On the ninth day of mourning of the twelve days of mourning I want, a wake to be held on the Toronto Islands. A feast of epic proportions and free alcohol provided and giant banners with my face on them unfurled at dawn. This should last for 16 hours at which time a small New Orleans band shall lead the procession back to the docks for the ferry and all traces of the activities removed from the Islands.

On the tenth day of the twelve days of mourning I want, in all the major cities in Canada free bus service for all and for each person who rides the bus I want them to be given a free quality tshirt with a picture of my smiling face and two thumbs up in their size.

On the eleventh day of the twelve days of mourning I wan an inquiry.

On the twelfth day of the twelve days of mourning I want a parade down the main drags of Vancouver, Calgary Winnipeg, Toronto Montreal and Halifax kicking off at the very same time. I want one hundred elephants and one hundred horses one hundred dogs and one hundred rats to be taken along the parade routes with no explanation.

I explained this to my wife who is in complete agreement.
She said, "Yeah....sure".

And that's about it.

 

[Nuggler]

Please Don't Bury Me
©John Prine

Woke up this morning
Put on my slippers
Walked in the kitchen and died
And oh what a feeling!
When my soul
Went thru the ceiling
And on up into heaven I did ride
When I got there they did say
John, it happened this way
You slipped upon the floor
And hit your head
And all the angels say
Just before you passed away
These were the very last words
That you said:
Chorus:
Please don't bury me
Down in that cold cold ground
No, I'd druther have "em" cut me up
And pass me all around
Throw my brain in a hurricane
And the blind can have my eyes
And the deaf can take both of my ears
If they don't mind the size
Give my stomach to Milwaukee
If they run out of beer
Put my socks in a cedar box
Just get "em" out of here
Venus de Milo can have my arms
Look out! I've got your nose
Sell my heart to the junkman
And give my love to Rose
Repeat Chorus
Give my feet to the footloose
Careless, fancy free
Give my knees to the needy
Don't pull that stuff on me
Hand me down my walking cane
It's a sin to tell a lie
Send my mouth way down south
And kiss my ass goodbye

After all that (thanks John), you can cremate me a scatter me ashes on the falls what flow into me favourite bass fishin water. It's in me will............whatever. I won't be here so really don't give a sh!t.

If me wife goes first half of hers' are goin where we used to walk our dog, and the rest in the above mentioned falls.........Mebee we can get together and watch minnows or something.............

:wave:

​

 

[Locutus]

Oh I have some very particular plans for when I kick the bucket. On the first day of the twelve days of mourning, I want the first person to find me to dress me in silk pajamas and an exotic smoking jacket and slippers. I then want 15 of the most beautiful and expensive escorts, decked out in slinky lingerie to lay about the bed weeping unconsolably. Then an announcement in all the papers of all the major cities in Canada and the US stating that I have passed on.

On the second day of the twelve days of mourning I want, after the coroner has figured out what killed me and pronounced that officially, I want to be lovingly prepared by 4 young sexy morticians, a 22 year old female Swedish makeup artist in a bikini, and red rose petals surrounding my table. My head shaved, nails trimmed and a nice shave with warm lather.

On the third day of the twelve days of mourning I want, my car prepared with a full tank of gas, oil change, and detailed inside and out so that it's as clean as a hounds tooth. All my music loaded onto a 300 gig mp3 player and the scent of sandal wood with a hint of patchouli infused in warm oil and rubbed into the wood work.

On the four day of the twelve days of mourning I want to be dressed in a pimpin zoot suit with a reit pleat, hat and cane. My pocket watch, $3000 in hundreds in my money clip on my right hip and a flask of Bushmills Blackbush in my inside coat pocket. In the trunk a keg of Guinness and four one pint bar glasses from Ireland.

On the fifth day of the twelve days of mourning I want, to be set upon a large oak chair with my pimpin hat pulled down slightly to shade my eyes and before me my wife and those loyal to me to to commit Seppuku and their bodies prepared for ritual burial.

On the sixth day of the twelve days of mourning I want, to be placed in my car where my wife and those loyal to me have been already placed and the music started. I want 40 mourners to openly weep and wail with uncontrollable lunges toward the car crying "why, why?" The car started and locked and the room sealed so the mourners will die of carbon monoxide asphyxiation.

On the seventh day of the twelve days of mourning, I want the building sealed up in brick and then parged with lead and finally sheathed in stainless steal and welded to form an air tight seal.

On the eighth day of the twelve days of mourning I want Pink Floyd with Roger Waters to perform Dark Side Of The Moon from the roof top of the building live.

On the ninth day of mourning of the twelve days of mourning I want, a wake to be held on the Toronto Islands. A feast of epic proportions and free alcohol provided and giant banners with my face on them unfurled at dawn. This should last for 16 hours at which time a small New Orleans band shall lead the procession back to the docks for the ferry and all traces of the activities removed from the Islands.

On the tenth day of the twelve days of mourning I want, in all the major cities in Canada free bus service for all and for each person who rides the bus I want them to be given a free quality tshirt with a picture of my smiling face and two thumbs up in their size.

On the eleventh day of the twelve days of mourning I wan an inquiry.

On the twelfth day of the twelve days of mourning I want a parade down the main drags of Vancouver, Calgary Winnipeg, Toronto Montreal and Halifax kicking off at the very same time. I want one hundred elephants and one hundred horses one hundred dogs and one hundred rats to be taken along the parade routes with no explanation.

I explained this to my wife who is in complete agreement.
She said, "Yeah....sure".

And that's about it.

Perhaps one of the investigative reasearch types here could determine whether your Twelve days are more expensive than this year's 12 days of Christmas. :smile:

 

[Tonington]

Oh I have some very particular plans for when I kick the bucket. On the first day of the twelve days of mourning, I want the first person to find me to dress me in silk pajamas and an exotic smoking jacket and slippers. I then want 15 of the most beautiful and expensive escorts, decked out in slinky lingerie to lay about the bed weeping unconsolably. Then an announcement in all the papers of all the major cities in Canada and the US stating that I have passed on.

On the second day of the twelve days of mourning I want, after the coroner has figured out what killed me and pronounced that officially, I want to be lovingly prepared by 4 young sexy morticians, a 22 year old female Swedish makeup artist in a bikini, and red rose petals surrounding my table. My head shaved, nails trimmed and a nice shave with warm lather.

On the third day of the twelve days of mourning I want, my car prepared with a full tank of gas, oil change, and detailed inside and out so that it's as clean as a hounds tooth. All my music loaded onto a 300 gig mp3 player and the scent of sandal wood with a hint of patchouli infused in warm oil and rubbed into the wood work.

On the four day of the twelve days of mourning I want to be dressed in a pimpin zoot suit with a reit pleat, hat and cane. My pocket watch, $3000 in hundreds in my money clip on my right hip and a flask of Bushmills Blackbush in my inside coat pocket. In the trunk a keg of Guinness and four one pint bar glasses from Ireland.

On the fifth day of the twelve days of mourning I want, to be set upon a large oak chair with my pimpin hat pulled down slightly to shade my eyes and before me my wife and those loyal to me to to commit Seppuku and their bodies prepared for ritual burial.

On the sixth day of the twelve days of mourning I want, to be placed in my car where my wife and those loyal to me have been already placed and the music started. I want 40 mourners to openly weep and wail with uncontrollable lunges toward the car crying "why, why?" The car started and locked and the room sealed so the mourners will die of carbon monoxide asphyxiation.

On the seventh day of the twelve days of mourning, I want the building sealed up in brick and then parged with lead and finally sheathed in stainless steal and welded to form an air tight seal.

On the eighth day of the twelve days of mourning I want Pink Floyd with Roger Waters to perform Dark Side Of The Moon from the roof top of the building live.

On the ninth day of mourning of the twelve days of mourning I want, a wake to be held on the Toronto Islands. A feast of epic proportions and free alcohol provided and giant banners with my face on them unfurled at dawn. This should last for 16 hours at which time a small New Orleans band shall lead the procession back to the docks for the ferry and all traces of the activities removed from the Islands.

On the tenth day of the twelve days of mourning I want, in all the major cities in Canada free bus service for all and for each person who rides the bus I want them to be given a free quality tshirt with a picture of my smiling face and two thumbs up in their size.

On the eleventh day of the twelve days of mourning I wan an inquiry.

On the twelfth day of the twelve days of mourning I want a parade down the main drags of Vancouver, Calgary Winnipeg, Toronto Montreal and Halifax kicking off at the very same time. I want one hundred elephants and one hundred horses one hundred dogs and one hundred rats to be taken along the parade routes with no explanation.

I explained this to my wife who is in complete agreement.
She said, "Yeah....sure".

And that's about it.

Lol, that's the most elaborate plan I've heard in modern times. No pyramid?:lol:

 

[Kreskin]

I then want 15 of the most beautiful and expensive escorts, decked out in slinky lingerie to lay about the bed weeping unconsolably.

I'm doing that the day before I kick the bucket.

 

[RomSpaceKnight]

Closed casket followed by cremation. take my ashes to favourite fishing spot on Thames. Dump my ashes in. They will then travel down the Thames and in to the Great Lakes. Eventually some will make it to the Gulf Of St. Lawrence and flow in to the ocean. Currents should then carry at least a few molecules of me towards England. There they will be picked up and deposited as rain on the north of England. And I will be "home" again.

 

[Unforgiven]

Perhaps one of the investigative reasearch types here could determine whether your Twelve days are more expensive than this year's 12 days of Christmas. :smile:

Hey if you want to throw some money into sponsorship, you can have a graphic on the car! hermanntrude and I are actually in negotiations for the rights to shave one of the dogs butts and teach it to walk backward in the parade!

 

[hermanntrude]

Closed casket followed by cremation. take my ashes to favourite fishing spot on Thames. Dump my ashes in. They will then travel down the Thames and in to the Great Lakes. Eventually some will make it to the Gulf Of St. Lawrence and flow in to the ocean. Currents should then carry at least a few molecules of me towards England. There they will be picked up and deposited as rain on the north of England. And I will be "home" again.

and then some chav will puke onto your ashes after having spent the whole night drinking, impregnating 13 year-old girls and terrorizing the neighborhood, going for a race in his souped-up volkswagen, stripping off his shirt and shouting for an hour.

England's not all you think it is.

 

[Dexter Sinister]

the victorians had a widespread fear that they'd be buried alive...if anyone woke inside their coffin they could pull on the strings which'd ring a bell at the surface.

Hence the expression "saved by the bell?" That sounds like a probable origin for it.

 

[hermanntrude]

actually yes i think you're probably right