It's wicked to mock the afflicted

Last night I was going on about Hunter S. Thompson. He's always been a favorite of mine. He was truly one of the blessed. Anecdotes about the writer are plentiful and even in death he added one more to the pile. I too have unusual funeral plans for my earthly remains. Although, unlike Thompson's mine are of a more permanent nature. I have always wanted to be stuffed in a pose like Bella Lugosi. Eyes wide. Teeth bared. That sort of thing. But, I can't decide if I want to be dressed in just a bathrobe and tank top or full military regalia. I suppose it is best to leave the details to my descendents. The important part is that I am stuffed and put in a closet that way I can still entertain my loved ones from beyond the grave. My main purpose of course would be to scare young family members¹, a sort of right of passage for my people, but I could see my preserved remains being used to deter burglars or merely to fill a seat to take advantage of the car pool lane. Grandpa would just be another part of the family for whom one occasionally must glue back on a finger or shoo the cat away from gnawing on.

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1) "Little Joey. Can you get something from the closet for me?" "No way. Mommy. Grandpa is in there! You're trying to trick me"