I don't want to have a traditional funeral when I die.
That would just make people sad. I've already died, it would be rude for me to do anything else to make my friends and family sad. I know what'll happen though. I'll go and get flattened by a boulder and my family will plan some weepy, frown festival. The only way I'm gonna avoid that is if I plan my funeral now, while I'm still alive.
In fact, funeral is such a grim word; I think I'll have a party instead.
Alright, so here's how the shindig is going down. It's going to have to be in the summer, because it's going to be at the beach and I want people to be able to swim. Late summer, so no one can pussy out because the water is too cold. If anyone tries that I'm so going to haunt them.
My body will be at the entrance. It will be hooked up to an animatronic Santa Claus. Whenever someone walks within my motion sensor I'll greet them by slowly rotating my body, waving and chortling a jolly "ho, ho, ho." If possible, my eyes will light up. I want to send a clear message to my guests: welcome to my party, feel free to go swimming and save room for cake.
Oh yes, there will be cake.
In fact, the centerpiece will be a giant cake. You better be god-damn hungry for cake if you plan on attending my funeral party. This isn't just any cake though. Andrew WK is going to burst out of it because, that's right, he's performing. The bereaved better be ready to dance, because they're going to be assaulted by a thunderous chorus of party-rock anthems.
Among other things, my funeral will also include: several kegs, slip and slide, fireworks, clowns, jugglers, tetherball, a pinata, and pin-the-tail-on-the-corpse. I know, I can't have everything. I can't get a petting zoo because the loud music and fireworks would scare the animals. A bouncy castle would be an adequate substitute.
The climax of my party will be when I am loaded onto a boat and pushed into the sea. The boat should be on fire in accordance with the rituals found in the Viking religion, but mostly for theatrics. Just as my guests have watched me drift out to sea long enough to become reflective and teary eyed, I will explode. The boat is going to be loaded with enough dynamite to annihilate any evidence that I ever existed.
The result of this spectacle, I hope, will be to allow my loved ones to forego the grieving period. Instead of getting a little misty when thinking of me, I hope they stare off into the distance and remember the amazing party I threw for them that I unfortunately could not attend.