Envisioning My Ideal Funeral

A lot of people don’t like to think about what would happen if they died. How they’d be remembered, celebrated, or honored.

But, for some reason, I’ve thought about this. 

So, here is how I envision my funeral.

Discalimer: Before I get any messages about my well-being, I’m fine, and this is a goof. Now, let’s all have a laugh together, shall we?


A solemn crowd waits inside the Wells Fargo Center which has been rented out for the occasion. The occasion in question is my death; brought about by a bizarre gardening accident, not unlike former-Spinal Tap drummer, John "Stumpy" Pepys. 

The authorities said that it's best left unsolved.

The solemnness that permeates the crowd is broken by a rumbling from within the bowels of the arena. A quartet of Budweiser Clydesdales pull my casket onstage.

The casket is opened…

But, it is empty.

A hush falls over the crowd. 

Who forgot to put Matt’s body in the casket? They had one job, for the love of God.

Then, the lights go out. A single spotlight illuminates the rafters of the arena. 

My lifeless body, wearing sunglasses like Chevy Chase at a roast, descends from the rafters, and the crowd explodes. “Rock You Like A Hurricane” blasts from the PA.

My body is placed as carefully as possible — considering it's dangling from a cable — into the casket, and upon touchdown, the goal horn goes off.

Two magician’s assistant-type women come onstage and unclasp my body from the harness and sashay offstage.

A video tribute is shown, showcasing all my life’s accomplishments. Walking on Mars, climbing Mount Everest, and that time that I got two bags of Skittles out of a vending machine when I only intended to buy one.

“Ladies and gentleman,” booms the PA, “We are here to honor the life of one Matt Reigle. Please welcome your (and by "your" I mean "my") eulogy reader. From the Philadelphia Flyers…”

The announcer pauses. Who could it be? Surely, it’s one of the many legends who have suited up for the Orange and Black.


The crowd erupts as the internet’s favorite mascot walks onstage, wearing the Flyers’ black third-jersey because this IS a funeral after all.

Gritty walks to one side of the stage, and puts his hands in the air, encouraging one half of the arena to cheer. They oblige.

Unsatisfied with the level of applause received by that half of the arena, Gritty ambles over to the other side of the stage, calls for applause, and again, the crowd obliges.

This turns into seventeen minutes of competitive cheering between two halves of a sellout crowd.

Once finally satisfied, Gritty makes his way to the podium.

He adjusts the microphone to better suit his seven-foot frame, then squeaks his hands. The crowd explodes again. Gritty pulls a t-shirt cannon from beneath the podium and shoots a shirt into the top row.

It has my face on it with the words “Stay in School” emblazoned across it. Mourners fight over the privilege of catching one of these shirts, and then promptly re-selling it on eBay at an exorbitant price.

One man spills his beer, however it's easy to replace as my funeral features an open bar.

Gritty leaves the stage.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," says the PA announcer. "please welcome, Kate Beckinsale."

The crowd erupts. Kate Beckinsale strides, nay, floats majestically across the stage. She is dressed in black, she wears one of those veils like Alex Kintner's mom in Jaws.

She blows her nose into a wad of Kleenex brand tissues. 

Kate Beckinsale tells the story of the time I took her to a Flyers game.

The story makes the crowd laugh, it makes them cry, and for some reason, it makes one guy yell "Bababooey, bababooey, bababooey, Howerd Stern's penis!" but he is escorted out of the arena. Ironic, because Howard Stern is actually in attendance at my funeral.

Kate Beckinsale leaves the stage but not before pausing at my casket and gently closing the lid. My casket is wheeled offstage. It will be sent to Cape Canaveral, Florida where it will then be placed in the trunk of Elon Musk's car and launched into space.

The service is over.

The mourners leave and do so in a hasty yet dignified fashion, because there is a 76ers game in the arena later that evening, and they don't want to have to pay the event staff overtime. 

They head to the after party, which will feature performances by Iron Maiden, Metallica, and a monkey who rides dogs like horses.


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