My fantasy funeral is better than yours

By Sarah Yule

Stop Buying Into the Airlines' Bereavement Fare Mythology ...

So here’s the deal. You want to pretend that you’re invincible. I get it, we’ve all been there. But
you need to get with the times. 2020 has ushered in a pandemic, and with it came an elevated
awareness of our mortality. And if you’re anything like me, Covid-19 isn’t the only thing
tarnishing your perfect picture of human health; there’s an empty package of Oreo cookies on
your desk that is doing that just as well. (Pro tip: If you wear a mask in your own home, you
can’t eat oreos with nearly as much efficiency. It’s basically free weight loss, so mask up!) So
now is the time to sack up and start planning your funeral!
Think about it, nobody knows you like you do, and the funeral is basically the only party that you
are guaranteed an invitation to. With BonBon cracking down on large gatherings, your
post-mortem plans are all you have left.
I got my start in the fantasy funeral biz when I was seven. This sounds odd, I am aware. But
mind you, I was a strange kid with even stranger parents. My dad and I would pass the time on
road trips imagining our dream memorial services. (sidenote: Hello father, I hope you opened
the link that I sent you to this article. Tuition well spent, don’t you think?) Here are some of the
highlights of what we came up with over the years.

  1. My service will take place in a funeral home that doubles as a crematorium. This is
    crucial.
  2. As soon as I perish, I have notified all who are close to me to begin preparing a set.
    About 10 minutes in length, each friend and family member will stand at the front of the
    room and address the large portrait of me, which will be propped up ahead of time. They
    will make jokes about me with no holds barred: nose jokes, fat jokes, mentioning that
    one time I was caught in the act of trying to stuff a family-sized container of uncooked
    pillsbury halloween cookies under my bed sheet to “save for later”, all the good stuff.
    Nothing will be off-limits at the Grand Roast of Sarah Yule, and I have already warned
    those speaking that I will haunt them for eternity if they go easy on me. They will get the
    crowd going with increasing numbers of knee-slappers.
  3. By the time friend number 3 takes the stage, there won’t be a dry pair of pants in the
    viewing room. And if you are peeing, you probably aren’t crying, and this is the plan. It’s
    a celebration of life, after all!
  4. At the end of the roast, a creepy older gentleman will materialize from the back room.
    More specifically, the man will be carrying me in an urn, fresh with my ashes, which were
    being prepared during the first half of the service. At this point, the man will take the
    microphone and announce that I was being roasted, while I was being roasted. This is
    why it is of the utmost importance that I am memorialized in a space that includes a
    crematory. If you thought the crowd was laughing before, now they’re really going.
    People are wheezing, falling to the ground. A few might even die from the lack of
    oxygen brought on by such a whacky turn of events; I mean COME ON, it’s a double
    roast. You don’t see those everyday.
  5. After Party at Denny’s, need I say more?
  6. As guests walk out of Denny’s, they will receive a t-shirt that reads: “Sarah died, and all I
    got was this lousy t-shirt”. Very much tourist, very “I survived the Bermuda Triangle.”
    With these amazing plans for my funeral, it is hard not to look forward to doom. Fearing death?
    Plan your funeral! You’ll barely be able to wait.

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