Don’t read the post, below / view the clip, above, if you click by at a time of mourning or other heartache.
I just had the distinct pleasure of shutting down a telemarketer (and likely scammer). Right from the get-go, I cut thru his paint-by-the-numbers pleasantries to ask, “What’s this call all about?” He replied (words to the effect) that he’d be helping me plan my own funeral. How nice…
While there’s nothing intrinsically wrong with pre-planning for life’s end game inevitability, when juxtaposed against the backdrop of the COVID-19 pandemic (which has already got many of us obsessing over death), this was just too damned ghoulish and in bad taste… especially since the “funeral director” was delivering his spiel while his headset was picking up all of that background, boiler room chatter.
Hmm… one would expect some canned, low decibel, somber organ playing or strumming of harps. But hey, if they can’t dig the importance of ambience, it’s their funeral… right?
Anyway, this all left me with the impression that, were I to buy into his scam, my body would eventually wind up on an assembly line conveyor belt, leading to a bubbling cauldron where my mortal remains would be cooked up into a concoction (confection?) known as Soylent Green.
Soylent what? You ask? Short answer: crunchy human granola bars. Somewhat longer rundown…
Soylent Green is the title to the 1973, dystopian, Sci-Fi flick, set in (then futuristic) 2022 NYC, where the main protagonist, Thorn, resides amongst the multiple millions of struggling, starving, homicidal maniacs who battle each other, daily, to score that generic, protein rich foodstuff (and unnaturally… in the process… unwittingly becoming cannibals).
Which brings us back to that crass telemarketer and what went down in the end…
I cut Mr. Reaper off mid-sentence to deadpan, “Uh, I’m donating my body to science.”
CLICK! (his phone, not mine)
I burst into laughter.
Which proves that chain yanking while social isolating can be fun.
Stay Safe at Home! Stay Publicly Masked! Stay Healthy!