This letter shall be read at my funeral. Someone who’s good at noting things, please take note.
“Dearest beloved. we are gathered here today to celebrate me. That’s right. Keith Ecker. I’m dead. Suprise!
Well you probably already knew that. That’s why you are here. I just that that’d be funny. You know, lighten the mood. Because I’m sure you’re all pretty sad to lose a guy like me. Yup, pretty sad indeed. I’m sure most of you would agree I brought a ray of sunshine into every dark day or I really brightened up a room or you’ve never met someone else like me. And I’m only guessing here, but I bet quite a few of the men wish they had my body. Well I’m done with it; consider it yours!
That was another lame attempt at humor. Sorry. I’ll just allow you to grieve. Preferably openly. As in gratuitously. Let’s get down to brass tacks shall we?
First, I’d like to thank everyone for coming. I’m sure some of you had to travel quite a ways away. Hopefully someone took an international flight. Those are expensive, and that really shows how much you care about me. In fact, you can have my television. It never worked too well, but it’s something, especially considering all my other earthly possessions were pawned off per my request. I also hope all the money made by selling my possessions is in my coffin, also per my request. I wanted a green burial, and I heard money is very good for enriching the soil. Well, I may have heard that at least.
Next, I want to give some personalized parting words to some of my nearest and dearest friends, who I’m sure are all in attendance today.
1. The woman that works the nightshift at Taco Loco
Juanita or Roberta or whatever your name may actually be, I just want to say thank you. Thank you for always being there when I needed you the most. Where else could I get a savory, calorie-laden meal at 3 a.m. after a night of whiskey and bad decisions? No matter what I came in smelling like, be it animal, vegetable or mineral, you’d serve me with a smile as if to say, “I’d rather be at home sleeping with my husband and spending time with my children.”
Your food may have been subpar. And yes, it usually would lead to the shits. But like heartworms, you bore yourself into my heart. And the only pill I could shove down my throat was your cheesy, greacy mole enchiladas. I wish I could have a plate of those right now. Well, if there’s a heaven and I made it there, just imagine me eating them. Eating a huge plate of them. While getting a blowjob from Alexander the Great.
Oh, and and the name Taco Loco is what I want everyone to call a vagina from now on. It’s a request from the dead. You must honor it. See Dead v. Living, 1976, Supreme Court of the United States.
2. The man who works the nightshift at Dunkin Donuts (on Lawrence)
It took me a while to figure out what nationality you are. I’m not trying to make this a race issue. It just was always a bit confusing. Your co-worker, the big girl with the bad skin and equally blemished attitude, is a Latina. So at first I assumed you were as well. But after getting to know you as well as any 3 a.m. purchaser of fried pastries can know his chef, I figured out you were Indian. It’s really neither here nor there, but I did wonder that meant you were also vegetarian. And if so, how ironic it is that you can’t enjoy the delicious food items, e.g., turkey flatbread, sausage biscuit, et al., your store serves to me when I’m cracked out on god knows what at an hour where the streets belong to cab drivers and hookers.
You look like a bird to me. Your nose is like a beak and your face is all sunken in like a bird’s, a regal bird’s, like an eagle! You never were the friendliest person. The only time your blank, corpse-like expression changed was when I’d take 10 minutes to order the same two donuts I always do, and you’d roll your eyes in disgust, a sense of disgust that I could tell really meant, “This guy. I love this guy. There he goes again!”
So in conclusion, thanks for keeping my Munchkin addiction between you and me. Oh, and Jesus. Maybe.
3. The lady at the Middle Eastern Bakery, who I think wears a wig.
Hi! How are you? Once again, forgive me for not knowing your name. I supposed I could have asked, but I probably wouldn’t have understood through that thick accent of yours. I enjoy that accent. I just regret that I was terrible at interpreting people with accents. I bet you up here we all speak one language. Like Esperanto. I wish I could report back, but you know, you can’t dry off a thunder storm. I think that’s a saying. If not, make it so. Death request!
Anywho, you’re a very nice lady. You remind me of my mom a bit. Cause you like kind of like her. Except I think you are wearing a wig. And it’s okay if you are. I’m not judging. It may be due to illness or female baldness or just personal choice. I just thought I’d point it out cauase it’s something I’ve just always thought about. If this is putting you on the spot right now in front of all my other friends and loved ones, I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you.
Your store was such an oasis of nutrition in a wasteland of crap that is my neighborhood (see above). I’d buy trail mix and chicken pockets and hummus all the time from you. And you were so pleased to have me as a customer. Probably because your shop was always on the brink of going under. At least that’s what I assumed. Why else would you be so happy to see me? Successful companies act indifferent toward their patrons cause they don’t want to make it look like they give a shit, like they’re desperate. Take a note from the big boys like Wal-Mart and start breeding contempt in your employees for your customers. That is unless you truly are on the verge of going out of business. Which, as I may have said, I assume you are.
Hopefully you managed to bring the pastries I requested to be served at my funeral. The ones with the pistachios. Those were so good. I hope everyone else is enjoying them too. But not too much. I’m the main event here. I mean, who do you have to thank for serving you those delicious middle eastern pastries? I rest my case.
Well that wraps up all those I’d like to thank. If I left anyone out, I’m deeply sorry. I just have too many friends, fans, worshippers and loved ones to really deliver a personalized message to all. But just so feeling aren’t too hurt, I have decided to write some brief “shout-outs” to those who at one time or another basked in the glory that was me. BTW, these were inspired by Twitter, which I’m assuming by now is the cornerstone of the U.S. economy.
1. Crank – I’m sorry I bled all over your bathroomin college, neglected to clean it up and then told you I gave a squirrel an abortion in there.
2. Rachel – I always assumed that you lied about going to grad school, and you secretly moved to Hyde Park to start a bum fighting federation. I am still waiting to be proven wrong.
3. Emily – If anyone has said ill of me throughout this proceeding, I want you to avenge me through art. I’m thinking something called a “Hate Collage,” which I don’t have time to explain right now.
4. Lauralee – Per my request, I hope you did a wonderful rendition of Christopher Cross’ “Sailing.” I also hope you followed through with the other part of my request where you sing the song dressed as a pirate and sing in a pirate voice. If you did not do this, please redo it.
5. Zach – I want you to sleep outside my cemetary plot with a shotgun, not to ward off vagrants or body snatchers. But to ward off the devil, who surely will want to take my soul. If he challenges you to some kind of competition with my soul as the prize, I recommend a rap off because you were always pretty good at that and even if you lost, it’d be a fun time and a good story.
6. Charlie – If there are any hot guys in attendance, I want you to make them stand by my open casket with their shirts off and pose for a picture. I then want this picture to be your Christmas card for the rest of your life. Death request!