Eschatological Elvis

I don’t know what it is about family gatherings that  brings the conversation around to funeral arrangements. It’s not as if I’m planning to go anywhere but I guess Lala and Mimi would like to know whether its burial or cremation. The answer is either, ‘I haven’t made my mind up’ or ‘You two choose, I’ll be busy elsewhere’. Then I go into this fantasy about my funeral. I just don’t want to be wheeled in by blank faced and detatched undertaker’s men. I want eight young men carrying my coffin in to the strains of Elvis singing The Fair’s Moving On and I want all of them with tears rolling down their cheeks. I guess it’s more evidence of the N word that dogs my days. Narcissism. Play it and see if you know what I mean(about the drama not the narcissism). Also it gives me a chance to see if I’ve already forgotten how to download a video.


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