What I Want Said At My Funeral.

A tall, beautiful woman approaches the podium. She is in her 50s but appears younger. Her eyes are the color of Caribbean sunsets. The scent of East Asian spices follows her wherever she goes.
She scans the hundreds of faces in the crowd. For a moment, she looks away, as though she might start to cry, but she collects herself and begins...

"I did not know this man who lies before us. He was an enigma to us all, right down to that final moment when he steered that passanger jet full of terrorists into the steely faces of Mount Rushmore. In the end, I don't think Josh wanted to be understood, but loved, really loved. The way Wesley loved Buttercup in 'The Princess Bride', or vice versa I suppose.

Josh was not always a gracious or kind man. We all remember the time he made Kate Winslet drink all those shots of tequilla. We lost a fine actress that night. And who can forget that fateful day he assassinated the Vice-President over a hand of Texas Hold 'em. He lost many friends during his three year stint as the self proclaimed overlord of the Galapogos Islands, nearly pushing civilization to the brink of World War V.

But we have not gathered here to persecute the man, but remember him. The man he was at his finest. The man that legalized marijuana in thirty-eight states. The man who succesfully brought Rod Serling, Abe Lincoln and the Notorious B.I.G. back from the dead just so he could roll with hottest entourage of all time. The man who helped eradicate malaria, won two Pulitzer Prizes and impregnated both Olsen twins at the same time.

Let us sing his song here and now. Oh, Joshua. One of the Almighty's beautiful wayward creations..."

Uncontrollable sobs fill the Church...but then movement...from the casket. A newly zombified Josh Rodriguez stumbles from the casket to the ground. The crowd, at first hushed and stunned, watches the creature stand upright and shamble towards the preacher. The preacher tries to run, but is pulled down to the prestine marble floor and devoured greedily by Zombie Josh. Perfect shrieks echo off acoustic angles. The mob rushes for the exit, stomping and kicking and lunging for fresh air and sanity.

Only the beautful woman at the podium remains. She sighs, smirks, peers at the well fed Josh and ask, "Death wasn't a good enough finale?"


We are the stars of our lives. Ask yourself each day, 'Would anyone want to watch my life if it were on screen?'