Whittle Yer Whiskey 'round Like Blazes. T'underin' Jaysus, D'ya Think I'm Dead?

As I may or may not have mentioned, my sister got married in Jamacia back in April.  Now, since only a few people were at the ceremony, they're having their reception tomorrow in Halifax.  This is probably the first large family get together of relatives on my father's side since I-don't-know-when, which means it's time to get health updates on everyone, whether I wanted them or not.  So I'm finding out who's got what problems, and which ones my grandmother  isn't allowed to know about, as they'd only worry her.

All this, combined with the rather dull location that is Moncton (I don't leave for Halifax until tomorrow), has gotten me thinking about death.  The end result is that I've come to one conclusion:  I don't want a funeral.  The entire standing around in a room in a funeral parlour while people nervfously shuffle in is far too much to wish on anybody.  No, wrap me up in a sheet, break out the whiskey and have a good old fashioned wake.  To me it makes much more sense:  celebrate the life the person lived.

One point for the title.  Any typos aren't going to be fixed, as I finished typing this before the second paragraph had finished appearing.