The BEST Funeral Ever

The king is dead, long live the king. He lay in repose in an orange taffeta lined casket, draped in multiple American flags. Garish? Yes. Unexpected, no. The bloom on his cheek, drawn on as in life. He smelt vaguely of fried chicken as a slight grease stain spread on the taffeta.

The mourners where inconsolable. They screamed and tore at their tee shirts, cut-offs and Mega hats. What would they do if reality came rushing back into the country? Would it be possible to control the population without him?

Let’s go back to the beginning of the day. It began at the barbershop with a quick tint of golden highlights. A man’s got to keep up appearances, for in fact what is a man but an illusion. He is what he says he is. Honestly, how do you gauge a person? He thought a lot about his presentation. The visual was everything. He seemed to forget that a spoiled core would eventually leak out and stain the sharpest suit.

The unseen counts in many aspects of life. His heart knew that, as did his various blood vessels. They screamed for some relief. The fried chicken for breakfast had been the breaking point, quite literally. Three or four lumps of cholesterol broke off at the same time traveling through his veins till they reached a narrow junction in the brain and stopped his bid for another election. Or would it stop another run?

The loyalists gathered around. He was rushed up stairs to his bedroom. A portable freezer was summoned and there the newly coiffed candidate was laid in state. Could they run a dead man? Would his followers believe he would rise again? He was the anointed one. He was off Twitter but with him dead, perhaps he could be reinstated. Was this conjecture outrageous? Has a deceased politician won a race? Just check with Google, the fact is five dead people won seats in congress, nine dogs, one cat and three goats have been elected as mayors of American towns. Is it possible, oh hell yeah!

A strategy session was arranged. The entire Illuminati of the Republican party was called to attend. The suggestions came fast and furious. Roosevelt’s wheelchair was suggested to ambulate the corpse. A Jim Hanson puppet apparatus was proposed. One of the older, big money donors recommended mummification which was greeted with applause. A deep fake, of the Deep Fake was proposed by the only Republican that was under 30. It was rejected due to a lack of computer skills. But then one of the faithful suggested that, “He knew a guy in Russia.” which excited the patriots. Then the former Vice President said, “Hang on a minute. I could be the face of the Presidency.” Everyone just laughed and laughed, they hadn’t realized what a strain dealing with the truth actually entailed.

Then off in the distance was heard a faint tapping, a gentle rapping coming from the bedroom. The entire group rushed to the freezer. The freezing seemed to have minimized the damage and brighten his complexion. Damage is a relative term, and no one was around that had the slightest credentials to judge. He popped up like a red nosed jack-in-the-box. Perhaps he was the anointed one after all, rising from the dead was pretty major or more likely no one had checked his pulse. Don’t want to encourage that science stuff.

The next day after the death notifications had been circulated around the globe and everyone had racked their brain trying to find two traits that could be admired about the former President, a state funeral was planned. He would have to be hidden for three days. Then on the day of the funeral the big reveal. He would sit up in the coffin and proclaim himself born again.

The lavish funeral had military bands, flyovers and booming cannon salutes. A few monuments where damaged which was a fitting tribute to the greatest person to walk the Earth. It lasted for well over four hours in the mid-July heat. By the time the casket was placed in the rotunda and the former first lady was staged to give the final kiss, it was the final kiss. The excessive heat from climate change and a lack of knowledge about how much air a small box can hold, had done the deed. The king was dead. His ninth life extinguished so that even Doc Schrodinger couldn’t resuscitate.

Proving that science is true, whether you believe in it or not. And ignoring the facts will kill you in the end.