Instant Death

Here is another way to make the world a better place: be an organ donor.

So when you're dead, you're not really dead. Dig?

A dear relative (read: my mother) has been in health care most of her adult life. She's seen it all and if you think hospitals scare the sh*t out of you, talk to her for an hour. You'll suffer through any number of ailments before heading to your local St. Joe's again anytime soon.

Apparently, when a person is recently deceased, doctors quickly cut, reach in, grab organs and sh*t and my mother wonders if the poor b*stard can still *feel* what's going on.

"He/She is barely dead, Catherine."

Okay. Fine. Worst case scenario, you'll endure a bit of pain before death finally lets go. Kinda like your first boyfriend. At any rate, it'll only last about ten seconds and then your eyes, lungs, heart, spleen (I don't know) will miraculously help other people lead fuller lives. Not a bad legacy.

In other words, suck it up cupcake.

Or, more eloquently put (with my additions in bold, in case you were wondering):

Bury Only My Faults
Ed Shirley

The day will come, fingers crossed, when my body will lie upon a white sheet neatly tucked under four corners of a mattress located in a hospital busily occupied with the living, the dying, and my in-laws - dancing their asses
off. At a certain moment, a doctor will determine that my brain has
ceased to function and, for all practical purposes, my life has stopped. Hold your applause till the end.

When that happens, do not attempt to instill artificial life into my body by the use of a machine, (my Rabbit is a miracle worker, but come on), and don't call this my death bed. Let it be called the "Bed of Life" (insert favorite necrophiliac
joke here) and let my body be taken from it to help others lead normal
lives. (Heh, I said 'insert'.)

Give my eyes to the man who has never seen a sunrise, a baby's face, or love in a woman's eyes. No American Idol fans, though. I have standards.

Give my heart to a person whose own heart has caused nothing but endless days of pain. No carnivores, pussies or conservatives either. Work with me.

Give my blood to the teenager who was pulled from the wreckage of her car, so that she may live to see her children play. Just don't be surprised if she takes to "the drink" afterwards. My blood and all.

Give my kidneys to the one who depends on a machine to exist. This one will be a redneck, I know it. So tell him to lay off the cheap whiskey and Hee Haw reruns. Turn on the news every once in a while. Help a sister out.

Take my bones, every nerve and muscle in my body, and find a way to make a crippled child walk. If you'd also find a way to make breasts perky without surgical intervention, that'd be great.

Explore every corner of my brain. Impressed, I know. Take my cells, if necessary, and let them grow so that, someday, a speechless girl will shout at the crack of a bat and a deaf boy will hear the sound of a raindrop against his window. Publicize plans to clone me. Go on O'Reilley and say it's because my ass is perfect. Watch Bill's head explode.

Burn what is left and store the ashes alongside Husband's bed. Next to my life-size picture. In order to creep out fresh-smelling bimbos who come calling, hoping to "make the hurt go away".

If you must bury something, let it be my faults, my weaknesses, and all prejudices against my fellow man. Except that guy who barked at me in high school. F*ck that guy. Oh! And f*ck Italians, too.

If, by chance, you wish to remember me, do it with a kind deed or word
to someone who needs you or just giggle when someone busts ass on the
ice. Somewhere - I'm smiling. If you do all I ask, I will live forever. And I'm all about living forever, b*tches.

Where was I? Oh, right. Making the world a better place.

Be an organ donor. Or don't. Completely up to you.