Pooky and I were just making plans for my funeral. No, I have no plans on dying, but it's life after all, who can say. (Besides, I am just Catholic enough to know that if I continue on with my blasphemous ways, I might get my ass smoted). Actually, I have always said I want a big party, in a drunken wake kind of way. The social event of the year at the very least. Everyone knows this. However, Pooks and I just made some specific demands and rules.

1. Alcohol a plenty. Preferably vodka, champagne, and tequila, as those are my favorites. However, people can drink whatever they please.

2. Except for Beer. Beer is outlawed, as I hate it. The smell alone would bring me back from the dead.

3. A priest may be present, but he must be hot. And he must speak only in Latin--unless--

4. He is actually a stripper, in which case he can sing along to Madonna's Like A Prayer as he takes off his sacred and ordained cloth. My only requirement there is that he not be a really beefcakey stripper. They are gross and I can't help but imagine them with all sorts of vd's.

5. Only wear black if you look good in black.

6. No kids, unless you want them to see you shit faced.

7. Mock anyone who cries. It's What Rene Would Do.

8. Food will be served. Catering by El Charro and my mother.

9. Bury/Burn me I don't care. But in my casket with me there will be: My favorite Martini glass, my diamond collection (ok small at this point, so what, wanna fight about it?), my strawberry colored Pocket Rocket, my riding crop, a feather boa, a bound finished copy of IOS (will never happen), and I will be wearing a black, cold shoulder Donna Karen dress. heh heh.

10. Party doesn't end until dawn. It's a WAKE people.

Hmmm, I think that's sufficiently morbid enough for today.


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