Heavenly God

If I die of a cardiac arrest this weekend, you'll know why.

I have designs to make this the perfect nosh food for my second favorite October event.

I may not be the prettiest corpse (I have a big ass zit on my forehead), but I'd die with a smile if I keeled over eating bourbon and sweet potato mash.

By the way, I want a wake. I'm not Catholic, but while I'm on the subject, I object to just "go to feed the roses" while some ghastly dirge plays and my loved ones weep. It's so depressing. I used to want to be cremated with my epitaph reading "Just Add Water", but I'm pretty sure it's been done and besides, with the way the food industry is going, it may not be so funny someday. Ben Franklin, writing his own epitaph at the tender age of 20, never faced such obstacles.

Then again, he passed on before he could imbibe the greatest beverage on Earth (great for the whole family!), so he certainly never ate bourbon-walnut-sweet potato mash (drool).