Being cremated or laid in a coffin when you die is no fun. With all the technology humans have developed, we do away with the dead the same old ways. There is cryogenic freezing, but that’s for people who believe they could someday come back. When I’m dead, I plan on staying dead, and I hate being cold. I believe in having a little fun with death. I want to be stuffed.
I’ve long been an advocate for human taxidermy. It puts the fun back into funerals. Instead of putting someone in a box and playing sad music, stuff them and place them in the position they wanted as stated in their will. Who could stay sad when their late friend is standing up at the funeral parlor playing air guitar to a KISS song? The answer? NO ONE.
A man in Puerto Rico shared my stance and, after being shot and killed, was stuffed and placed on his bike. He had the right idea, but why waste an expensive bike when your family could ride it in your memory or sell it to pay off the taxidermist?
When my time is up, I’ll be stuffed and posed standing up with a big smile on my face so people can remember how tall and sexy I was. I will be giving a thumbs up with one hand, while the other is rested upon my hip in a casual, yet masculine manner.
During my funeral visitation, I want two bikini clad women with huge breasts to be standing on each side of me, and the song “Are You Ready For The Sex Girls” by The Gleaming Spires to be played on a loop. The combination of the two will make it impossible for people to be sad, except for the bikini girls because they won’t be able to have sex with the best looking guy in the room.
My will shall state that I be placed at the head of the dinner table during all major holidays so that my family will not miss me. And if they miss the sound of my voice, they need to do nothing more than pull the draw string that will be attached to my back, since doing so will release one of many generic soundbites that I will record prior to my death.
“Let’s eat!” “After dinner, you’ll be as stuffed as I am.” “How was your day?” “Merry Christmas.” “You look nice today.” “Make me a sandwich.” “How about that sports game last night?” “I love you.” “What did you think of this week’s ‘Survivor’ episode?”
Those samples will be accompanied by many more, to the point where you could almost have a conversation with my stuffed corpse. There will also be a separate button that will play a recording of my memorable laugh.
I’ll be around so much that everyone will be sick of me. It all sounds like a lot of fun. Too bad I won’t be around to enjoy it. Sort of.
This week, Steve Neely, founder of Immutable Truth, joins the MuldoCast for a chat about little people, gym water fountains, and unveils truth that will simultaneously boggle your mind and tickle your funny bone. Tune in and open yourself up to what were previously unfathomable possibilities.
Do a kindness and tell a friend about the MuldoCast. Also, be sure to subscribe to MuldoCast on itunes so you can listen at your leisure.
My roommate and several friends raved about Nutella, but I had never eaten it. A few days went by and it sat in my pantry until I had a hankering for a midnight snack.
I settled on a toasted English Muffin with Nutella spread. It was delicious and my life will never be the same. Its blend of chocolatey, hazelnutty goodness filled my taste buds with joy. How I went 26 years without ever trying this treat is a mystery that will never be solved because I’ll be too busy eating Nutella with everything that it could possibly be spread on. Any food or object would be better if it were covered in Nutella.
Toast. Fruits. Celery sticks. My roommate’s bald head. Carrots. Cardboard. Salad. Styrofoam cups. Sexual partners. More Nutella.
I could go on, but then I’d just end up naming every object in the universe and that would be a waste of everyone’s time.
Until I had my first bite of Nutella, I felt a lot like Britney Spears in the song “I’m Not a Girl, Not Yet a Woman,” in that I did not have the necessary life experience to be called an adult until I peeled the seal from the Nutella jar and plunged my butter knife into it. Now, I am one step closer to entering manhood.
And one step closer to licking Nutella off a bald man’s head.
My friend Rob Hughes of the #1 rock band in Los Angeles, The Whiskey Saints, has two loves: Music and cut-off shorts. He displayed his love for the latter by participating in a video that is more viral than meningitis. Check it out:
Rob will be performing his one man show at select venues during a brief west coast tour.
A friend showed me this video of children coming down a blown up slide that looks like a penis while a fine kazoo rendition of “Bohemian Rhapsody” plays. It reminds me of the time my mom rented a vagina moon bounce for my 7th birthday party. Take a look:
It’s gross, but the kids look like they’re having fun. They don’t realize the object of their amusement is a large fuck stick. Things like that tend to go right over kids’ heads and that’s the beauty of childhood innocence. Like the one time I was watching “Herman’s Head” as a young boy and their numerous “sex sandwich” jokes were lost on me.
This video and the above link are two examples why it’s wrong to hide adult topics and innuendos from children. We’re OK with showing kids extreme examples of violence and spewing foul language around them, but a few jokes about butt plugs are unacceptable. It should be the opposite.
Many of the movies I loved growing up had a high amount of sexual references. Do you know how many I comprehended? Zero. It’s easier to understand a guy getting shot in the face than a sex joke. So let’s cool it with the puritanical outlook toward exposing kids to sex.
Out of all my Youtube videos, the one I hear the most about is from a few years ago when I recorded myself complaining about loud neighbors having early morning sex while blasting techno music. They were hideous looking and insane. My reaction was raw emotion at its finest, as you can see in the video:
In another incident, they got into a domestic dispute and the police were called. The woman argued with the cops. I took a look outside my peephole and saw her handcuffed against the wall in her bra and panties. It temporarily blinded me for 7 hours.
The couple broke up, the fat girlfriend lost a bunch of weight (but still was ugly) and became more insane. Her low point was playing a 10 minute long Danzig song on a loop all through the night at a volume loud enough for me to make out the lyrics from my apartment across the hallway.
I called the cops and complained to my landlord to the point where she was threatened with eviction if she didn’t stop. I moved out soon after, though my memories of this woman, her loud sex, and questionable taste in music will haunt me for the rest of my life.
Back in late 2000, I saw the Barenaked Ladies before in concert and it changed my life. They’re the one band I’ll truly follow, for better or worse. I was unabashed about this in high school, contributing to the already vast list of reasons I never dated. I took my love of the band one step further and designed a website dedicated to them, loaded it with photos of nipples, and gave it the most ridiculous title possible: The Chilly Nipple.
Looking back, I see the logic. If a lady is naked, her nipples are most likely chilly. It’s a catchy joke title but maybe something that shouldn’t have been associated with my straightforward fan page. Besides having a horrible design and being adorned with nipples, I waxed poetic on my love of all things Barenaked Ladies. The problem? No one gave a shit.
The site never got visitors, and I gave up on it almost as quickly as it was created during a brainstorming session in the shower. After going through my archives, I found the desktop wallpaper that I crafted. It’s the greatest thing about the site, a 10 on the unintentional comedy scale, and arguably the best digital image ever created.
The wallpaper adorned my desktop for several weeks before I realized having a huge nipple in the center of my monitor wasn’t as cool an idea as it seemed (and my mom yelled at me). The background was changed to something more hip, like “Survivor” contestants, and the website was abandoned.
Fortunately, thanks to portable hard drives and the foresight to save a lot of my old files, it lives on for you to enjoy.