Hunter S. Thompson of course."Thompson indulged in numerous hallucinogenic fantasies over the years, but this weekend, one of them morphed into reality: his ashes were blasted into the sky over his farm here, carried by red, blue and silver fireworks in front of a 153-foot monument that Mr. Thompson, the writer and avatar of "gonzo" journalism, designed himself almost 30 years ago."
What a brilliant idea, if your gonna do it (cremation), that's the way to go. Don't toss my ashes out to sea, don't keep them on the mantle, make them into fireworks, toss a few back and remember what a blast I was. That's not to say I'm a blast a minute, I'm quite fond of napping and love sleep. Like last night for instance, I slept like death, a good solid sleep, with many odd dreams of blonde men waiting on me, that was nice. I wanted to linger in bed as long as possible, sleep just 15 more minutes and I did and it was good. Now, due to my selfish need of slumber I've little time to spew about anything of significance and must proceed with my work day and thoughts of blonde men adoring my every move, waiting on me hand & foot, I pity my employees today; I'll imagine they are one of the many gorgeous men in my dreams and I'll delegate back massages and foot rubs, and then when I hunger something other than them I'll shout, "Fetch Me Food Wench!!". Apparently, I will also be a pirate and I've just called my fantasy man a wench, so the guys in my dream must have been gay, whatever. For the record, I want my ashes to be made into fireworks. Oh yeah, and the price of tea in China, I know nothing about. Have a Super Fanfuckingtastic Day!
[via Talk Left]
