“My Life” by Charles Kruvand

Categories: ISSUE 02: Billie

My Life
My greatest joy is planning my exit from this world. My second greatest joy is canoeing the Neches River in East Texas.

At first I wanted to be cremated and have my wife eat my ashes. She has refused to do this. I don’t know why. I would eat her ashes if she asked me. I know exactly how I would consume her bodily remains. I would mix her ashes, just a little bit at a time with mangoes and vodka, just the way she liked to have her breakfast. Then every morning I would remember my lovely wife with each gritty bite.

Since this isn’t going to happen, I have been shining flashlights in my eyes to help me think of a new plan.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Upon my death I want my bodily juices put directly into my favorite place on earth, the Neches River. The only practical way to do this since I live in Austin, five hours away, is to have my body mashed in a giant blender immediately upon my death. Then my pink slurry must be sent to a meat freezing facility and frozen into a giant Popsicle with a baseball bat for a handle. I loved baseball as a kid.

I want my frozen, pink slime of a mashed- up body taken to the Neches River. There it is to be dipped into the water until I have completely dissolved. Let the minnows swarm like piranhas and the turtles bite off hunks.

I love all the birds and animals I meet while canoeing the Neches and I want to give myself back to them. The baseball bat can be given to a museum. It doesn’t matter which museum. I am sure every museum in the country will want this bat.

The flashlights have helped me realize this could be messy, what with oozing blood and bits of bone, dripping and sticking to whoever has to touch my melting bloody carcass. And having my dead body put through a large blender presents certain problems. Like, where will the executors of my will find such a machine and the people willing to run me through their animal byproduct gizmo.

So I have decided.

If my body cannot be crushed, sliced and diced and then ground into gooey oozing hamburger meat immediately upon my death with all my juices intact, I hereby authorize, and being of sound mind and body; I want to be frozen first. I think this is fair and considerate as it may take some time and exorbitant amounts of money to solve the logistics of turning me into pink slime.

Secondly,

 

If it is impossible to turn me into fish food for legal reasons, I want to be made into sausage links. I don’t want to seem narcissistic, but this is important after all. One’s funeral should be thoughtfully considered to make up for the horrible misery one causes while alive.

So, if it looks like the executors of my will could be arrested for feeding minnows my frozen mashed-up body then have me cut up into Jimmy Dean sausages. Take my Jimmy Dean body to the river and throw me in.

On second thought, maybe I am rushing into this pink slime idea. And I don’t even like Jimmy Dean sausage. I need to revisit the flashlights.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ahh…, flashlights in the eyes. I was beginning to creep myself out, trying to decide whether my Popsicle body should have two legs sticking out or whether my Jimmy Dean body should be mesquite smoked.

Thinking clearly now, I have concluded.

Immediately upon my death, I want my body stripped naked and impaled on a tree near the Neches River. I want to be left there to feed all who want me. If a mighty flood sweeps me away, so be it; if vultures pick my flesh and fight over my bones, so be it. If gun enthusiasts use my impaled body for target practice because they like the sound of bullets piercing my skin, so be it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Only one thing, I want two cameras filming my rotting corpse 24-7 and streamed live on the internet.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Every hour during the live internet stream, somebody will be awarded $1000 just for watching. The large number of viewers will bring in enough advertising dollars to pay for the prize money. If not, raffle off the right to shoot my corpse. If that is not enough, sell hunks of my body to the New York Museum of Modern Art.

The country will come to a standstill. Songs will be sung, books will be written, movies will be filmed and the Neches River will become the most celebrated river in Texas.

Post Script:

Mother, please tell me you like my story.


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I’m just trying to please you, my Irish queen, my drunken lush.

I think I should hush.

 

Story, foreground, & in-story photos by Charles Kruvand
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Background photo by Misti Rainwater-Lites