Stilton’s Place

Stilton’s Place

It’s Beginning To Look a Lot Like Crispness

It is an inescapable fact of life that as we age, the advertisers who have paid for our demographic information will do their best to advertise products which they feel will appeal to our age-appropriate needs and passions. Not to mention our declining ability to make good fiscal decisions.

Which is why those of us in the Jarlsberg household have grown used to getting mailers and phone calls offering us invitations to retirement/investment seminars, annuity offers, brochures for cruise vacations, great deals on “to your door” catheter deliveries, Social Security supplemental insurance, and seemingly benign catalogs offering everything from compression socks and elevated toilet seats to anaconda-sized vibrating ding-dongs, and high-power “personal” vacuum pumps which, if you’re not feeling romantic, look perfectly capable of milking the cows in record time.

But with all that said, we hit a hilarious new low the other day when we received a big, cheery postcard letting us know that we could enjoy a FREE LUNCH AT RED LOBSTER just for sitting through a fun-filled seminar on getting cremated.

Yikes!

The mother and daughter on the invitation (shown above, though we added the flames) look like there couldn’t possibly be a more enjoyable outing than enjoying some crab cakes and cheesy bisquits while hearing how long your body will have to roast over open flames in order for the bones to get crunchy enough for for grinding, and what will happen to anything foreign which was still in your body, like fillings, a titanium hip joint, or perhaps an anaconda-sized vibrating ding-dong.

We can’t really think of a topic which would make us less enthusiastic about visiting Red Lobster, though we have to admit that we’re still considering attending just so that when the waiter comes for our order, we can say “I think I’ll have the blackened…” (point at other guest) “that guy.”

Not that we’re against cremation. When the time comes, we’re looking forward to that being our big, smudgy, final carbon footprint insult to Bill Nye, Al Gore, and Leonardo DeCaprio.

Plus, cremation can be a huge money-saver over traditional burial. For instance, our own parents had their “cremains” stored in a beautifully painted cookie tin which had been purchased at a garage sale only months before being pressed into service. “It will be handy for something,” our father said presciently.

Similarly, we’d like our own ashes to be kept in an urn which is unpretentious, a bit fun, and (like us) extremely cheap. A quick look online turned up these potential receptacles, all of which have varying degrees of appeal…

Haunted house, Frog Prince, Cthulu, or KFC bucket? So many tough choices!

Alternately, if our family doesn’t want us haunting our own home, they can cast the ashes into a few places we’ve suggested (including scenic vistas, the eyes of our enemies or, if subtlety is the goal, baked into brownies to be given as gifts).

In which case we’d still want an elegant and expensive-looking (albeit empty) urn bearing our name to be placed on the fireplace mantle and subsequently have it filled with hard pretzel chunks which could be casually munched for the sole purpose of freaking out sensitive guests.

We’re not sure what laws apply to this sort of thing, which is why we’re really looking forward to taking part in a robust question-and-answer session when we visit Red Lobster.

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