This… this is how you say goodbye. We should all be so lucky to get a sendoff like this.
Huffington Post — Mourners in Ireland celebrated the life of a local farmer by seriously rocking out to “Mr. Brightside“ by The Killers. A video uploaded on Friday shows everyone attending a wake at Falvey’s Bar in Killorglin, County Kerry, emotionally belting out the smash hit. Brian O’Sullivan stands on the counter to pay a moving tribute to Ger “Farmer” Foley, who had cystic fibrosis and died last week at the age of 45, reports the Irish Mirror. “[Ger] is salt of the earth, he will never be replaced, but we will remember him forever in our lives,” he tells Foley’s friends and family. “I’ve been doing this song for a few years but I haven’t done it for a couple of years up on this counter, it’s the most appropriate song that you could ever get for this man, it’s ‘Mr. Brightside,’” O’Sullivan adds.
This… this is how you say goodbye. We should all be so lucky to get a sendoff like this. A packed bar… drinking in your honor… singing in chorus to one of the greatest songs ever. That’s a final memory that I can get behind. That’s seems to be like the right way to remember someone. More so that the absolutely preposterous way we do funerals now. Dead stuffed body in an open casket… mafia front funeral home with that familiar depressing smell… and a horribly awkward mix of tearful memories and casual small talk. Seriously… how is that still the norm when someone dies? How is this just the accepted goodbye we all give? Are we all okay with this shitty goodbye?
Because I’m certainly not. I want nothing to do with a traditional funeral. I said it when that Ghanaian funeral was lit…
…and I’ll say it again here:
Send me out with a party.
Get drunk, play some music, have a good time. Just prop my dead ass in the corner like Weekend at Bernie’s and get lit. Sing Mr. Brightside. Dance to Ghanaian music. Hold a post-mortem roast and crack some laughs. Sing in chorus to the best song ever made…
And when it’s all over, cremate my body, dump the ashes in a basketball, and shoot me off into space towards Moron Mountain. Send me out in style, not in a pine box in the dirt.