Tuesday, September 08, 2009

#1090 Buriality

One the quirkier stories in the news of late is the lady who wanted to sell her husband’s burial vault and move him somewhere else. The vault in question is directly over Marilyn Monroe. The lady thinks she can auction it for a fairly good price on eBay.
Your final bay...on eBay.
The lady plans to move her dead hubby to a different cubby, next to the one he’s currently in. It was reserved for her. She intends to be cremated.
Probably because she’s still hot from the whole deal.
Seems her deceased loved one bought the crypt from Joe (say it ain’t so) DiMaggio, on the occasion of Joe’s divorce from Marilyn. The guy then bought a vault next to his for his wife. And here’s where it gets really strange. The guy not only thought it would be cool to eternally rest over the top of Marilyn, he asked that his body be placed face down so he would be looking at her.
Someone might have explained to him that that whole looking and seeing thing sort of stops happening when you die. They might also have explained to him that, embalming or no, corpses rot, and after the first 60 years, looking down, even if it were possible, would involve a slightly different view.
But think of the implicit insult to his wife. “Oh hey Honey, bury me over Marilyn Monroe face down because she’s so beautiful, and when you die you can be buried right next to me. Face whatever direction you like. And wear something nice. Marilyn will be close.”
I’d move the bastard too. No word who he will be face down over after the move. Knowing Hollywood, it’s probably Roy Roger’s horse.
But burial reality, or buriality as I call it, can be funny. I recently saw an advertising banner hanging at a cemetery. It said, “Basic Cremation $623.”
And my first thought was, why six twenty three? Why not 621 or 625?
“621? You’re killing me here, I can’t possibly burn you for under 623.”
My next thought was, what is there besides basic cremation? What do they do with an enhanced version? Add hickory chips?
Or do you get like a...spice rub?
America, ya gotta love it.

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