Year: 2056

Dew Birch Jewish Temple, approximately 20 miles from Site-17

"He inspired me to start sucking dick," sobbed Draven Kondraki in the front pew of the funeral service. His boyfriend reached out a hand and patted his leg comfortingly, nodding solemnly in response to the sentiment; he could confirm that the child of the deceased was an incredible bottom.

"He was so good at breathing," whimpered Alto Clef tearfully from beside them. The staffers around the widower nodded. Benjamin Kondraki had been good at breathing.

"Once, he punched me in the face for the last doughnut," cried the newly appointed Director Moose. "Jesus Christ, I'm gonna miss him so much."

"This is a Jewish service, Tilda," Director Bright whispered in her ear from the proceeding pew, as if to clarify. Dr. Rights elbowed him sharply in the ribs in response.

As the Rabbi finished the sermon and walked to the casket, the small group of assembled family and friends fell silent. Some final words were said- something about the power of love and God- and then called the pallbearers up to the altar, intending to carry the casket to the small cemetery outside. Solemnly, the attending began to close the lid-

CRUNCH

There was a brief moment of confusion among the occupants of the Temple at the sound- plastic and rough. The casket lid would not close. It was held aloft by an empty two liter pop bottle affixed to the penis of the deceased.

"The med team couldn't get it off!" wailed Draven.

55-year-old Foundation Director Benjamin Kondraki awoke from the very specific but not quite unlikely nightmare in a cold sweat, in his home in the present day, very much alive, with four hours to his shift. Fumbling for the switch, he turned on his lamp and yanked up his boxers to double check. All there remained of the incident was a bag of frozen peas to numb the soreness. He breathed a sigh of relief. The newly-purchased Tenga Egg pocket pussy on his nightstand lost its balance and fell to the floor with a sad and lonely thud.