A few of us filled out our organ donor cards when we got our licences. Deidter and I have legal wills in place. As preppers, it's important to figure out what you want to happen WHEN you end up pushing daisies.
If society hasn't collapsed, then there are many options. Get thrown in the ground, get burned, get pressure-cooked into a diamond, get sent to space, let med students cut you open for science, or continue living in someone's new liver or kidney. It's costs about $100 to get a lawyer to draft up a proper will. Who get's your money? Your property? Your debt? Your pet? What about your Star Wars action figure collection worth thousands? Which friend has the responsibility of deleting all the weird porn off your computer before your parents or kids see it? These are all the questions you need answered before you kick the bucket. Trust me. I've had a bunch of people die around me and when they haven't sorted their death out, it's like agreeing to help a friend move and realize nothing's packed on moving day...and no pizza or beer either. Don't be that bitch. Get your shit together. Get a back-pack or something...get your shit...gather it all up...so it's together... and just get your shit together.
Ok, no more peace-time. Now it's the zombie apocalypse. Now what's your plan? No lawyers to divide your porn stash amongst your loved ones? No funeral directors, no coffins, no formaldehyde. We've got some plans.
Postman has always wanted to be burned on a funeral pyre. Hunter wants to be thrown into a wood chipper, composted and used to fertilize the crops at our bugout farm. Soldier wants to be burned because he'd hate to have us break our backs digging a grave and the funeral would last as long as it takes for him to ash-up. But he also wants a plaque made and have it mounted in one of the great halls of our bugout castle. I guess we'll also have to salute it every time we walk by. Strategist would love to have us do experiments on him, especially if he was bit and turned. He'd want us to learn as much as we could from his zombie self. But as soon as anyone becomes emotionally compromised by having a zombie Eric up and about, he wants us to destroy him and burn him. Jedi wants his body used for anything that is needed at the time. Food, tools, even pimp him out as a sex doll if there was a lucrative marketplace for it. I, Butcher, have demanded that there be a big feast in my name where I'm the main course. I want every part of me eaten so I can strengthen my fellow apocalyptic warriors from the inside out. I love them so much...I just want to be inside them. They hate the idea and said they can't eat me if I'm looking at them. So the feast continues...without my head at the table.
YOU GUYS BETTER EAT ALL MY LEFTOVERS!
