I will write my own damn Eulogy

I will write my own damn Eulogy

I had an in-house debate with myself this morning, over whether to call this piece the '5 Deathly Suppositions'. Somehow, my self lost to I, so that explains the uncharacteristically dull title.

I will also write my own damn obituary

...just so you know.

I have said some of the things I am about to say out loud before; but knowing people tend to know it all, particularly when the subject in discussion is not around to exercise his 'Right of Reply', I find it rather instructive to put the words in writing. Published writing. Makes my work easier when I can afford a lawyer and an iron-clad will.

Here goes Nothing:

1) If I die young, don't bother convening funeral committees. Those commercial shindigs imply that:

• you are willing, now that I am dead, to fundraise and even be event organizers on my behalf. Well, while am still here, I am glad to announce that my death will be no event. I will require no earthly material wherever I am gonna lie. So here's a thought: I am no Pharaoh;  invest in my life, not in my lie.

• there will be a funeral. That's not a statement of fact, by the way. Go back to 1) above and you will realize that it is merely an implication. So for the record, there will be no funeral. I will prefer to be cremated to a crimson piece of coal and used to light a bonfire. Then a select few family members and friends will be allowed to sit around it and save the money they would have spent traveling God awfully long hours to plant me in a hole dug by Sweat, Time...and possibly, more money.

2) If death is a celebration of life, then the money saved in bullet 2 above will then be spent buying liquor and meat.

Yes, go loco and party like a rockstar when I die.

Meanwhile I will, on my end, be partying like a rock.

I am assuming, of course, that the teetotalers will be amply accommodated with milk straight from my cow's titties. I intend to be a farmer by the time I die.

3) If you did not show it when I was alive, then do not bother showing it when am gone. Same applies to all them coulda shoulda woulda said s, dones and thoughts. Keep them; my ears are sealed any which way. If you did, however, then you can. At the barbecue. Because, once again, there will be no funeral. Let me take this moment to point you back to bullet 2 point 1) above.

4) The aforementioned coulda shoulda woulda said s, dones and thoughts do not in any way have to be positive. If I disgusted you in life, I should continue to disgust you in death. Do remember, however, that action and reaction are equal and opposite. I may just possess the zeal to come back and kick your butt every once in a while, spirits and all. I may even come back as a liquored up spirit. Now that'd be something.

5) There will be no, I repeat, NO, posts on my wall when am gone. I am arranging for my Facebook password to be passed on to a ruthless son of a gun who will poke every single person who posts on my wall post mortem, and then some. And just to make sure the NO obits rule from paragraph 1 above is upheld, the son of a Desert Eagle will most likely be a lawyer, eager to drive your assets to concurrent Rigor and Livor Mortis in a display how serious I am when I say:

I will write my own damn Eulogy. And obituary. Then rest in pieces of scattered peace.

#Moral: Part 2 of the last ndialala will and testament – don’t play the I-will-so-miss him fiddle when am gone. Eulogies are not to be turned into an online network face condolence book. This is a reminder; when that day comes, be forewarned! I haunt you! Kid you not.

Ahmed the Dead Terrorist