“Imagine your grandma in hell. Baking pies without an oven.”
George Carlin (1937 – 2008)
I wrote the next lines in his memory:
I can’t understand the concept of cemeteries. They’re just a waste of useful space. I mean why the fuck keep some corpses in the first place? Are people that arrogant in such a way that they buy property on which to keep their apoptotic former selves? Well they are! People will do almost anything to their cadavers except donate their organs post-mortem.
“Why the fuck should I help another motherfucker after I’ll be gone? Maybe I’ll need my fuckin’ liver when I’m taking a harp lesson up on a cloud in heaven…”.
I say: “Hey cocksucker! Maybe you’re going to hell. You think god never saw you touching your niece’s dog in an unnatural way? Down there a liver is just another piece of meat that aches”.
Death should be a simple thing:
first – you die (so far so good);
second – a team of specialists harvest all your viable organs;
and third – they take the rest of your shit down to the crematory and burn it to ashes.
No need for the childish concept of afterlife, god, devil and all that shit. Some of your parts (always the brain, which when you think of it, is the source of all the nasty shit you’ve done in life!) go in a big ass oven, where they’re cooked to ashes. Other organs take the higher role of saving someone else’s life (maybe the kidneys, always kept clean by tremendous amounts of alcohol ingested, alcohol that also led you to suicide, but that’s another story). So there you go: heaven for the holy parts of you, and hell for the less holy ones. And if you’ve really done something worth being remembered, you’ll be remembered. A fucking sculpture of a Mercedes beside your grave is not a reason for people to speak about you in the centuries to come.