I fell down the hole. It happens. You go in with the intention of sending a quick Facebook message, then forty-five minutes later you’re still on the internet and you’ve ordered all eleven seasons of M*A*S*H on VHS from Amazon and you don’t even have a VCR. This time I was catching up on the news when I read about Harper’s Fair Elections Act. That naturally lead me to Googling assisted suicide and funeral chapels––you want to have all of your bases covered.

Eventually I found my way to the website of a funeral chapel in Prince George, BC. It was under the umbrella of Dignity Memorial, who, with over 2,000 locations, dole out franchises like McDonalds but with livelier atmospheres. The name of this particular franchise was Assman’s Funeral Chapel, because you can’t spell Dignity without A-S-S.

Immature delight aside, I’m all for the name. If when I die my family decides to have a memorial service instead of taking my ashes to Disneyland and throwing them into the air on the final descent of Splash Mountain like my will dictates, then take my body up north. The only person I want embalming me is Assman.

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