I love this: “When I die (and yes, Melissa, that day will come; and yes, Melissa, everything’s in your name) I want my funeral to be a huge show biz affair with lights, cameras, action …
“I want Craft services. I want paparazzi. I want publicists making a scene! I want it to be Hollywood all the way. I don’t want some rabbi rambling on; I want Meryl Streep crying, in five different accents. I don’t want a eulogy; I want Bobby Vinton to pick up my head and sing “Mr. Lonely.”
I want to look gorgeous, better dead than I do alive. I want to be buried in a Valentino gown and I want Harry Winston to make me a toe tag. And I want a wind machine so that even in the casket my hair is blowing like Beyonce’s.”
She who dies with the most toys, wins.