For a little while now, I’ve been thinking about the future of this family and what it means for all of us. There’s no point in denying, after all, that I’m getting on in my years. After much thought, however, I’ve come to an important decision: When it comes time for me to cross through the veil into that great beyond, I would like my remains converted into Nickelodeon slime and dumped on my son.
I understand that my passing is an uncomfortable subject, and I assure you I take no pleasure in discussing it. Death is a fact of life, though; always has, always will be. With that in mind, I think that the best thing for everyone is that my body be converted into that famous, gelatinous green ooze and then surprise-dumped on little Harris’ head during the funeral.
The boy will be alright, I’m sure. He’s a young man entering a big and exciting world, and this will be a great opportunity to bridge that gap. Dropping a gallon of the necrotic goo from the Kids’ Choice Awards on top of him when he least suspects it is just my way of saying from the other side that “I love you, and I always will. You’re the man of the house now.” Passing on the proverbial torch, if you will.
Though some may think this a rash decision, please understand that I’ve arrived at this conclusion only after days and days of agonizing. I’ve put a lot of thought into this, and I just can’t see any other way it would work out. Burial, cremation—both respectable disposal methods, to be sure—but neither can even begin to approach the emotional impact of watching globs of my thick, green, Nickelodeon-brand remains dribbling down my son’s shocked, tearful face.
As I’ve aged, I’ve grown to realize that sometimes we just have to take life’s challenges as they come to us. Sometimes we see them coming from a ways away, and sometimes they take us by surprise. Fortunately for my son, he’ll be able to grieve for me in the most slime-tastic way possible.