Facebook Killed the Comedy Star

A few days ago, Facebook decided to casually inform me that I had died.

I was scrolling through my page when I noticed a little blue banner at the top that read “Remembering Kelsey Mitchell”. Well, I thought, this is fucking typical that I find out second-hand of my death. I’m always late to the party, and in this case, late to my own funeral. I’m used to finding out about my life second-hand; whether through friends telling me what I actually did after that sixth shot versus what I remember doing, through social media reminding me about the time I fell in a trash can trying to plank, or through my parents trying to make light of the oddities they experienced in my upbringing, I seem to have a warped perception of my own realities and need to rely on others for the low-down. Granted social media is my main source of news (following CNN on twitter counts, right?) and it’s always startling to find out through Facebook about major events that hit close to home, but your own death? I didn’t even make it long enough for Facebook to tell me that I finally got married! Or see Facebook post incessantly about the child I didn’t know I gave birth too!

So far, the afterlife has been pretty lacking. There is no wine fountain, taco truck, no winning Fantasy Football team, or free Netflix, which is what my ideal afterlife would have. As of now, it’s been research papers, a head cold, and a news feed clogged with post-election fallout from both sides, which is less than ideal in my book. So maybe I didn’t get lost and actually ended up in hell, which to be fair is where I was probably headed anyway. Many people hope to become “hot” in their lifetime, I’m just waiting for my inevitable arrival in hell for that to happen.

Like every other time something strange happens in my life, I decided to post about my alleged death to Facebook, to which 48 people liked my status. Now does that mean that 48 people are glad of my death or? Either 48 of you love and will miss me, or I have some serious afterlife time-management to do if I’m coming back to haunt you guys. So that got me thinking even more, what would people say upon my death? Of course like any other human I hoped there would be good things to say, but here’s what I think would really be said at my funeral:

“She hit the bottle too hard, looks like the bottle finally hit back”

“Here lies Kelsey, who we thought had just overslept yet again”

“Well we knew she was sick in the head, turns out it wasn’t just her head that was sick”

“Welcome to the roast of Kelsey, she died by setting her kitchen on fire. Talk about a real Kitchen Nightmare”

Thinking about what my nearest and dearest family and friends would say about me at my funeral caused me to panic a little. And by a little, I mean a lot. Would my Father tell that embarrassing story about the time I decided to ask a cop why they liked donuts so much? Or even worse, would my friends tell all those stories of my crazy antics that they witnessed and have pictorial proof of? Jesus, that might be scarier than learning of my own death through Facebook. Would my funeral be one filled with tears and tissues, or one filled with laughter and booze? Obviously I would prefer the latter, seeing as those are two of my favorite things. So in an attempt to be an eternal micromanager from beyond the grave, I have laid out the essentials for throwing a “Kelsey Mitchell Funeral Fest” (and yes, I do mean fest, because if you don’t go big, go home).

Step 1: Make sure the event is open bar.

Yes, I’m serious here, and yes this is my first order in my last will and testament. People will need to have access to an endless supply of alcohol- whether they’re celebrating my long awaited departure or coping with the unresolved emotional trauma I left them, lots of alcohol will be consumed, so better make it cost effective. I once saw a bar sign that said “alcohol- because no good story every began with drinking water”, and I agree. I usually have a drink or two while writing because I think it helps enhance the stories I’m trying to tell (and lets be honest most of them have alcohol in them somehow, why not embody that too) So why not let your memories and stories of me capture that same essence by getting a little liquored up before. In any case, make sure to pour one out for me, my spirit will probably be in need of spirits while witnessing my funeral.

Step 2: Wear whatever the hell you want.

While black is a flattering color on everybody, most people know that I am far too scatter-brained to find an outfit each morning. My go to is usually jeans from Target and an oversized shirt of some kind. I am a big believer in comfort, so why not extend that to my funeral attendees? Comfort is after all essential to mourning, so why not seek comfort while being comfortable? Yes, some might say that dressing nice is a sign of respect and memorial, but honestly, respect in my book is letting people know they are welcome no matter what they wear. To make things easier for everyone, just wear whatever you want, be it a traditional black dress, jeans and your favorite t shirt, or even a onesie for all I care, just show up. No really, just show up. There will be free booze.

Step 3: Instead of prayer cards, print out my funniest tweets and hand those out.

I want my comedic voice to live on after my passing, and my twitter is my main source of comedic outlet. So rather than giving prayer cards with a bible verse that nobody will ever read, just print out my most popular tweets and hand those out. Most authors (and this is proven, so for once I’m not just making it up as I go along) reach fame only after their death, which to me is pretty sucky. To help expedite the process, spread my words of comedic nonsense, just in the rare case that my death was an internet hoax so I can come back to reap my newfound fame.

Step 4: In lieu of flowers, please make donations to The Taco Truck.

Because charity in my mind is supplying tacos to everyone. Tacos bring me extreme happiness, so spread the love taco style.

So there you have it, what my ideal funeral would look like. Sure it might not be typical, but when have I ever been known to be a typical person? The answer is never. And I’m ok with that, because it just gives me more to write about and put on the internet to haunt me in the years to come.

Rest in peace, my dignity and chances of future employment.




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