Weddings are great: your two friends are in love (theoretically), the ceremony is beautiful (subjective), and the reception feels like a big party (with assigned seating). But in your 20s and 30s, the deluge of friend weddings can lead to weekend upon weekend of travel, spending, and forced enthusiasm. So here are a few tips to help you fake your death and avoid that next damn wedding.
Look up any planned demolitions that are scheduled to occur near you. Text your friends, "Hey I'm going to go to the old hockey arena south of New Brunswick and hang out for a few hours." They'll never be able to sift through all that rubble, at least not in time for the reception.
Disappear for a few weeks. Send a handwritten note to the couple, claiming that you are dead and that they are the only ones who can find your killer. Include some "evidence," like an engraved compass or a ticket stub from a movie theatre that closed in 1978. The couple probably won't get around to avenging you, with their busy schedule in the lead-up to the wedding, but they will cross your name off their list of attendees.
Earn a pilot's license from a disreputable pilot school (much faster than earning one from a reputable school). Rent a small, single-engine plane. Over a barely-charted jungle, make a mayday call. Be sure to give your location! Then smash your radio and parachute out of the plane, leaving it on a direct course to land inside a volcano, liquefying the evidence. Live in the jungle among the animals, free of human weddings.
Line up early for Black Friday shopping and post several pictures of yourself to social media. During the frenzy that is the first wave of shoppers, dump some pig organs on the floor and douse them in your own blood. Allow other shoppers to stomp on them as they run by in a soulless frenzy. DNA analysis will show that you were trampled to death and perhaps everyone will learn that America's consumer culture has gone too far. But that won't really concern you because you will now live in Panama.
Buy a dummy that looks like you and film it getting run over by a train.
Board a steamship set to traverse the Bermuda Triangle, and wear your favorite hat. Sway things like "I never travel without this hat! It's almost like this hat is a part of me!" While crossing the Bermuda Triangle, toss your hat overboard and put on the antique three-cornered hat you've kept stowed in your trunk below decks. Assume the persona of a Revolutionary War era soldier and refuse to break character for the rest of your life.
Discover that you have a long-lost identical twin named Morgan who is coincidentally in the same physical shape you are and has the same haircut. Don't let Morgan find out that you exist. Murder Morgan and take over Morgan's job washing dishes at the old diner off of Exit 17. Leave the body somewhere near your house and wait for the police to find "you". Even if they do find DNA evidence of the murder, it's indistinguishable from your DNA.
Announce loudly that you are going "to the ocean." Then, leave behind a few items that you "wouldn't" leave behind, like your cell phone or your signed Bobby Bonilla rookie card. Go live off the grid, leaving your newlywed friends to forever ponder what fate you met in that great plane of endless water.
Fake your own murder and blame Ben Affleck (not Ben Affleck's character in Gone Girl, the actor Ben Affleck). Rabid entertainment reporters will eventually debunk this one, but not before uncovering a few skeletons in Affleck's closet along the way. Hope that the hysteria over his secret family in Latin America keeps your fake murder below the fold, at least long enough to avoid the wedding.
Simply fly to Belarus or another equally corrupt country and bribe a bureaucrat to create a fake death certificate for you. Stuff that into the RSVP envelope, mail it back, and enjoy your free weekend.
Reminder: It's customary to send the couple a gift up to 12 months after the ceremony, so remember to remain dead for at least a year.