12
Jan
11

the last dougie

Gather round, everyone. At long last, I hereby call this press conference to order, now that the reporter from Cat Fancy is here. As has been reported ad nauseam, a lot of  speculation has been made about what to be done with my body after I die, and this announcement will finally put some of that to rest. Don’t pardon the pun, either; I meant the shit out of it.

First off, I want to address the funeral proceedings. I would like for the service to be a celebration of my life, but it would be a lot more satisfying to leave an unfillable void in the lives of those I touched, so I humbly ask that if it’s not too inconvenient for everyone, to please refrain from ever putting the pieces of your lives back together once I’m gone. As for a venue, try and remember that my adult life is characterized chiefly by a desire to avoid church. Burial is out, as it would be disrespectful to the many hours on earth I spent watching zombie movies. Cremation seemed like a good option until I began the intimidating process of selecting a good place to spread my ashes, since all my favorite sports teams now play in shopping malls. Sending my remains into space wasn’t terribly appealing either, as I don’t believe that space travel is possible, thanks to a very persuasive VHS tape my pot dealer showed me which explained that no craft could possibly make it out of the Van Allen radiation belts, meaning that the moon landing was obviously faked. So, without any further ado, I’d like to announce that I’m taking my talents to donating my body to science.

That’s right. I want to be given an unflattering, almost belittling name like Ralph, as in, “Listen up, students, I’d like to introduce you to Ralph. He’s kinda quiet, but you’ll be spending a lot of time getting to know him this semester”. I want medical students to craft elaborate hypotheses as to the origins of my many scars, correctly deducing once they dissect my liver that alcohol factors heavily into several of the more prominent ones. I would like very much for some smart alecky wisecracker, a budding Benjamin “Hawkeye” Pierce perchance, to wonder aloud what I was thinking when I chose that particular tattoo on that particular location of my body. And lastly, I want to be a silent witness to that late-night breaking point when two of the med students finally submit to the pressure that has been mounting all semester and have hot spontaneous nerd sex in the lab, pausing from their passionate kissing only for the few seconds it takes for the guy to pull the sheet over my eyes, eliciting some demure giggling from the girl.

Sure, donating one’s body to science may not be for everyone, but to me it’s all worth it to know that the research conducted on my body could finally contribute to a cure, so that future generations won’t have to suffer through the slightly puffy nipples that plagued me throughout middle school. Look, I don’t want to freak you out, I’m just trying to make sure that my wishes are known. Let me reassure you, I’m gonna be around a long time, if for no other reason than to shut up all the haters who are conspiring against me even as I type this. For example, this guy behind me honking his horn, who is probably just jealous that he doesn’t have anything better to do than signal before a lane change.

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1 Response to “the last dougie”


  1. 1 Mr. Cling
    January 12, 2011 at 11:23 am

    I would like to be that wisecracking med student. I’m signing up for Med School pronto so we can make this happen. Please try not to die until at least 2064, I’m very slow.


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