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The angels would sell our souls for new wings.

I want Modest Mouse's Bankrupt on Selling to play at my funeral. Pretty much the entire The Lonesome, Wild West album would be sufficient. But I want my casket to make an entrance, rolling down the aisle to the Star Wars theme song. And I want to be buried in my polka dotted dress and soccer cleats, and my stuffed animal Laura that I've had forever. Oh, and with all my hair products, blow dryer, and flat iron because I don't want to have bad hair in heaven.
And a picture of my lover for the purpose of eternal rest. Nothing is better than sleeping by his side.

2:31 p.m. - 2009-10-23

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