When I’m dead, please stuff and mount me

And when I say mount me, I don’t mean to hump me or sex me up when I’m dead because that would make you a fucking psycho. I mean clean me out, dress me up and stuff me with something like cotton, or bubble wrap, because I love that stuff, and then put me on a wall. Or at the very least, prop me up in a chair so it looks like we’ve just finishing having tea or something. Or vodka. We would have been having vodka actually, so put me near a bar if there’s one in the house.

Anyway. Why am I talking about wanting to be stuffed and mounted?

So I was cleaning my office today and got a glimpse of the wooden urn I bought that holds Moxie. At first I looked away, because I’m great at avoiding feelings lately in my very sociopath type manner. Then I looked back and thought to myself, jesus, that is a fucking ugly urn and it doesn’t match anything in my office, not that Moxie did either, and she was awesome. Then I looked across the room to where my father sits in his baby metal urn, much smaller than Moxie’s because I got to keep all of Moxie and I only got a portion of my father. His urn is ugly, too, I thought. Doesn’t anyone make a nice urn? Then I thought, NO, NO YOU WILL NOT GO INTO THE URN MAKING BUSINESS YOU WEIRDO. Get a grip.

Then I thought about how I’d feel if someone stuffed me in a bottle and just kept bringing me around everywhere and setting me on shelves. I’d be bullshit, I decided. I’d rather be tossed in the middle of a good campfire amongst friends or in the ocean where I could swim or off a mountain so I could float in the breeze or in a garden where I could grow and you could eat me. Sounds kind of disgusting in a very, I bet I would be great fertilizer type way.

Anyway. The point of this is one day, I was in the car talking to Moxie about life and the tragedies of being an adult and I was perhaps going over a story about my father, otherwise I can’t think of why we’d be talking about cremation and we both decided we’d like to be stuffed and mounted. I told her I would gladly do such thing because she would always make a great addition to any room and I’d even put her argyle sweater on her and be sure she had crazy eyes, just so it’d be like old times.

Umm, this stuffed pet has an outfit. Don’t judge me on my crazy. Yet.

And today I realized I failed her. To be honest, the Germans didn’t give me many options. They said do you want her or do you want to burn her, ever the tact of the straightforward Germans. Well I couldn’t let her just sit there for a whole week and so end of the story, she’s in her wooden holder now. I do wonder if she’s pissed that she’s not downstairs in her sweater in the corner, hanging out like nothing’s wrong. I suppose that would freak the fuck out of our other dog, Dante, though.

And WHAT? Am I the only person in the world to think it’s a much more authentic and fun way to pay tribute to someone by stuffing and displaying them, as opposed to doing normal, boring and awful things like put you with worms or burn you and carry you around for years and years? Ummm no. I’m not. Japan gets me. There are legendary dogs being stuffed left and right in Japan which are badass and kind of scary but if I had been able to send Moxie to Japan and get her back, I’d at least keep a spot light on her, kind of like in a museum, so I wouldn’t come running around a corner and start screaming at my stuffed dog. I am very forgetful sometimes. Anyway. Seriously, check out the dog stuffing by the Japanese. It’s legit. Also, it’s not gross so don’t be scared to click this link. Badass dogs of Japan made into stuffed animals.

Also, Salinger at least gets me….

“Boy, when you’re dead, they really fix you up. I hope to hell when I do die somebody has sense enough to just dump me in the river or something. Anything except sticking me in a goddamn cemetery. People coming and putting a bunch of flowers on your stomach on Sunday, and all that crap. Who wants flowers when you’re dead? Nobody.”

–J. D. SALINGER, The Catcher in the Rye

But honestly, I doubt anyone is going to let anyone else stuff me or any of my future furry companions. People just have no sense of humor anymore. So. If this ever becomes an issue, put me over the fire and then I want to be put in a firecracker. One of those white ones that as it trickles down, it makes a crackling sound. Yes. I’d like to be shot off to explode in the sky.

I’m going to change my will tomorrow and make sure all of this is noted. And when I say change my will, I’m going to write it for the first time, on scrap paper and sign it. Then I’ll probably post it so if you see you’re not getting anything from me, you could try harder in the next few years.

If this isn’t adult like, I don’t know what the hell is.