I'd appreciate it if my memorial service was on the happier side rather than the sadder. Death's the last greatest adventure after all, right? If it's a bit cheesey, that's just swell too.

Now having said "happier rather than sadder", I can't resist the hypocrisy of Jacks' Seasons in the Sun. Since I was a young lad lying in the grass staring at the sky, it spoke to me about the sadness of leaving the ones you love. To get the most bang for the buck, though, I suppose I'll have to die in the spring to get the full emotional response.

If it's not noted elsewhere, Trevor R. Anderson is the official executor of my estate (wait... what estate?!). My life insurance policies are to be divied up amongst my family, so don't get any ideas, you there with the lead pipe and poison.

I used to want a nice burial in a classy black coffin with brushed chrome trim, driven to the cemetery in a late sixties Cadillac Superior coach, but now, well... the thought of the wasted space and wasted body parts really gets to me. I'm thinking of donating any usable parts to science. My skull is to be donated to Trevor R. Anderson of the University of Washington for biological studies.

The fangs stay in.
And the dark circles under my eyes. They've been there all my life and they better be there in death.

Simply the truth, and it doesn't have to all be pretty. I'd like family and friends to relate their memories. Who was I then? Who am I now? I'll definitely be haunting about listening because I'm not sure I know the answer to these myself.