If someone really loves you, they won’t buy you a coffin at the ol’ coffin shop. They’ll make you one. Hand crafted. Heartful. Ugly, and utterly amateur (unless you’re on the younger side of a big family). Buying a coffin at a store is like buying a greeting card with a message printed inside of it. A little impersonal, don’t you think? If you truly hope someone will “Get Well Soon,” you’ll tell them in your own words. If you truly hope someone will Rest In Peace, you’ll build them the most kickass soil-rocket that you can. It’s your final gift to the deceased, and I know you can do better than some mass-produced Wal-Mart, glossy-lacquered, ten foot turd of a corpse cradle. Make your own. Get creative!

When my Uncle Shamus died, we put together a coffin made out of all his favorite things. Pasta, salt, and leering at underage girls. The first two were easy enough, but to fully honor his memory we had to suffice for leering at underage girls during the service. Close enough! The coffin construction process was easy and fun. We started by laying out a eight by eight foot box, as Shamus was a rather portly fella (probably from eating all that pasta). Then we filled it with pound after pound of wet noodles. All of his favorite types! Spaghetti, ziti, fusili, penne, peeny, harrideani, lamborghini, Purina Pro Plan Savor Adult Turkey & Pasta Entree in Gravy Canned Cat Food-ini. All of his favorites. Afterwards, we dumped ol’ Shamus into the box, salted him up, and waited a week for the “coffin” to harden. After putting on our breathing masks we threw lashes over our kitchen coffin creation, dragged him to the top of his favorite hill, and shoved him inside of it. A priest yammered on about Mr. Jesus, and we leered at underage girls from under our gas masks, and I bet you a smile grew on on Shamus’ face that was ten times the size of his heart-diseased heart.

Love your loved ones. Bury them in salty pasta and cat food.

T