I had infiltrated the world of funeral shoppes and cremation parlors, but still hadn't found the death option that was right for me. The next option was to donate my body to medical science, the best alternative for the budget-minded corpse. Think about it. You help others, and save grieving loved ones unnecessary hassles. If you're a performer, you get to put on one last show. "Break a leg!" as they say.
Personally, it's an unappealing option. I picture a bunch of partying medical students, throwing my spleen at the class misfit as a practical joke. However, the only costs are for transportation by the "removal service," so the price is right.
I called the State Curator's Office to get details and pricing, where I talked with a soft-spoken representative named David. I told Dave I'd like to cut corners and find a friend with a ski rack and some rope, but he said I wouldn't be allowed to drop off my fictitious Uncle Charlie in this manner. Apparently, corpses can't be dropped off like a box of imported oranges from Miami.
He sends me a copy of the Curator's brochure (unfortunately no pictures), where I learn that bodies are taken to a loading dock area by the removal service, where they are picked up by partying medical students to re-enact Weekend at Bernie's. After the "studies" are complete, the remains are cremated, and the "cremains" are scattered at sea or in a cemetery.
"Cremains"?! Is this a word invented by the same man who brought us "Spork"?
"To join our fraternity, you'll just have to eat this section right here."
Unfortunately, medical science body donation is not for everyone. Excluded are the extremely obese, and the advanced decomposed. I say, where are their rights, huh? Even in death, fat zombies are having it stuck to them by "The Man." We should stand up for the rights of our obese, decomposing brothers and sisters! Fight the power!
Next: Getting My Head Frozen!
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