Congratulations on Your Viking Funeral!

You’re not entirely to blame, to be fair. When you requested a Viking funeral you just meant you wanted to be set on fire on top of a giant pile of sticks. You didn’t want your friends and extended family to assemble with a collection of barbaric weapons and charge headlong into a series of daring raids into other suburban neighborhoods so they could bring back their victims and rape them by the light of your pyre.

But come your spectacular funeral Wednesday night that’s exactly what’s going to happen. Six soccer moms and three priests are going to be thoroughly (and somewhat enjoyably, but in a weird kind of embarrassing way) violated by the incredibly drunk assemblage of people who will have convened to see you off to the next life. Seven police officers will also be hospitalized after trying, unsuccessfully, to halt the tide of human violence spilling out from your giant backyard and into the surrounding community.

Come the next day everyone will be really embarrassed by the whole affair, too embarrassed to even discuss it one another. They’ll just go get tested for STDs individually (which is what responsible adults do) and drink lots of water so that they feel a little bit less like they got super wasted and pillaged and raped their neighbors the previous evening.

On the upside the local news will do a piece about your unusual funeral. But as usual they’ll cut out the most interesting bits, specifically the parts about how everything went crazy and how your next three grandchildren were conceived by indeterminate parents.

Congratulations on Your Viking Funeral!

Congratulations on Upsetting Everyone in the Room!

You’ll be at one of the many orgies you attend. They’re basically the only way to interact with people socially in L.A. and get any sort of genuine human contact out of it, which is kind of sad and kind of awesome considering how many attractive people come to L.A. to try and “make it.” You and an aspiring writer will both be balls deep in a waitress who shot a few commercials back in 2006 and hasn’t really had a lot of success getting supporting work since when the question will pop into your head and be out before you even had a chance to register what you were saying.

“So, Beatles or Stones?” you’ll say, wiping sweat from your brow.

The writer, whose name you never bothered to learn, will pull back a little.

“Beatles, of course, man,” he’ll say, giving the waitress a moment to breathe before he thrusts his penis back into her face. She’ll grab a hold of him before he does so and force him to hold for a second.

“Oh, yeah. Totally. The Stones had a lot going on, but you really can’t compare what they accomplished to what the Beatles managed to do with some of the worst luck of any band in history,” she’ll pontificate before accepting the writer’s penis back into her mouth.

Someone in a pile a short distance away will voice up.

“Fuck yeah, Beatles!” he’ll shout amidst the grunts and moans of your fellow orgy-goers. It’ll be hard to tell if the cries of assent are simply those of ecstasy or agreement, but most of the mutters of agreement will clearly be genuine acknowledgements that yes, the Beatles were indeed better than the Stones.

“I...kinda prefer the Stones,” you’ll say, taking a break from thrusting away at the waitress. She’ll pull her body forward, freeing herself from you and the writer. Everyone in the room will disengage for a moment, wrapped up in your seemingly innocuous entry into the discussion.

“I think it’s best if you leave,” the waitress will say, handing you your pants. Murmurs of agreement will dominate the room this time, the lack of moans and shrieks driving home just how badly you misstepped here.

As the waitress’ hands guide you out of the room, pressing articles of clothing into your arms along the way, you’ll think of all the mistakes you made in life that made you like the Stones more the Beatles, but in the end you’ll only be able to go back to an episode, long long ago, when your uncle made you touch your junk while he watched while Gimme Shelter was playing. That’s what you’ll blame for this whole horrible night as you drive home, teeth bared and rage brewing.

Congratulations on Upsetting Everyone in the Room!