|here’s my blogging cliché, self-involved thoughts on my death
||[Mar. 8th, 2008|10:54 am]
i change my mind about wanting to be cremated. although it has it’s merits of not taking up valuable cemetery real-estate and helping to remove my dead mass from association with me in other’s memories, it’s still wasteful. i volunteer to be eaten. some vegan can enjoy my protein and fat with my consent. i believe i’m a decent candidate to be cannibalized with only a few exceptions. i’ve exceeded USDA standards of free range living despite the 40hr/week in the cube farm. i have a high flax content, but i’m not purely organic fed. thanks to biking, my thighs and gluteals should yield several pounds of lean meat, although my stringy torso may only render jerky. as a bacon loving long-pig, i would like to request that the more fatty parts of me be cut into strips and then fried for any meal of the day, though i sadly cannot produce eggs or milk to accompany. please puree my liver to make a dill foie gras. it should be extra extra tender. be creative with the rest. i would hate to get wasted.
this is all supposing that i remain healthy, and that i don’t die of extensive necrotizing fasciitis. when you sit down, please don’t go through any ceremony. just eat me. i’ll go well with an IPA or a peaty scotch.
yes, i just finished the Restaurant at the End of the Universe audiobook.
Originally published at notetoself.net. Please leave any comments there.