Saith Teh Binks
— Mourn my death, all death, and do not have a forced-smiley “Celebration Of Life”, or, I swear, my corpse will zombiefy briefly, rip off its own arm, and club the preacher senseless with it.
— Don’t preach me into heaven.. or hell. You don’t know that: death is not an automatic graduation. That’s God’s business. Preach about God’s judgment and mercy in Jesus.
— Don’t tell my loved ones “he’s in a better place”, as a form of comfort. You won’t know that. “So sorry” is fine.
— Don’t tell my family “Everything happens for a reason”, either. “So sorry”, or “Good riddance” is just fine.
— Pray for my soul. Not so that it gets into heaven, but that the purgation is as quick and perfect as can be. If I’m in hell, I won’t care.
— My body will not be rubbish, leftovers, ‘or not really me’. It’ll be an integral part of who I was, and– in the resurrection– who I will be again, in Jesus. It will be resting and sleeping in hope, in the grave.
— Don’t plague my loved ones with your clever atheism, or on the other hand with very special theories about God and the afterlife and reincarnation and your pets going to heaven and suchlike.
— No, I will not ‘become an angel’ when I die. Nor shall I become a spotless Saint™. Eulogies are for pagans, trying to impress the gods or the public about the amazingness of the dead person. Have a wake, if you want to blab about my life, failings, and hilarities.