For years Science has laid claim to all the good corpses.  That’s why I’ve decided that when I die I’m donating my body to the Arts.  At one time I considered Sports a leading contender for my last remains, but seeing the withered condition of my body while I was alive they couldn’t imagine what possible function it could serve after the life had passed from it.

But, the artistic possibilities are endless.  Parts of me could be scattered over the floor and viewed as a jigsaw puzzle.  Or, the sturdy bits reassembled in the shape of, I don’t know, say a bicycle; and purchased by some type of performance artist who pedals me, furiously, while popping slice after slice of bread into a toaster all the while ranting on the incoherence of Coleridge.

All manner of musical instruments could be fashioned from layers of skin and lengths of intestine.  Of course, sterilization would be required unless it was used to simply beat on with my thighbones to keep a rhythm.  In that case it would still need to be washed rather thoroughly, I would think.

Yes, I quite like the thought of contributing to some higher aesthetic upon my demise.  Then again, I hear the Rams are looking for a tackling dummy.


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