The Shark Guys » Drinking and driving in the deathmobile

November 5, 2007

Unless you’re a signatory to some government/Nasa Area 51 non-disclosure pact, or otherwise other-stratosphere rich, it’s unlikely that your desire to have your ashes fired off into space along with the charred remains of your lifetime accumulation of Star Wars memorabilia will be accommodated. As such, your final ride on this earth, or to put it another way, God’s checkered flag coming down on the victory lap of your life, will be in a hearse – and hopefully not the late model, back-firing jalopy pictured here. [Editor’s Note: This would of course precede, depending on your particular religious beliefs, you being shot up to heaven via some kind of seraphic service elevator.]

Hearses were originally horse-drawn and lest you think the word itself was derived from a slurred, drunken elocution of “horse”—unfortunately, it wasn’t. (The origin of “hearse” isn’t that compelling and for a dreary explanation click here, or feel free to circulate our more interesting derivation). What’s certain though, is stopping every hundreds yards or so for an equine plop must’ve really detracted from the solemnity of the proceedings, and resulted in the wiping of many an extra tear and the covering of many a nose.

The development of the internal combustion engine (the trend of caskets being pulled by a convoy of underpaid cyclists having been short-lived) put an end to the funereal use of beasts of burden, giving rise to consumers having a whole range of opulent choices like Rolls Royce, Jaguars or Mercedes, so that their final commute to that big, luxury showroom in the sky is a smooth one. For the easy-riding set, there’s even a motorcycle-style hearse with a sidecar—not recommended for navigating winding, hilly terrain (or for those with any sense of dignity and decorum).

In New Zealand, a beer-guzzling mourner took a hearse out for a mid-funeral “joy ride”, though it’s hard to grasp how much joy could have been derived from the stunt given both what we would assume to be the solemnity of the day and the fact that the weighty conveyance couldn’t even outrun a postal vehicle, except on a 30-degree slope with a stomach-stapling casualty riding in the rear.

Indeed, while the authors of The Shark Book covered the aftermath of the customary booze-up that is part of many earthly farewells in a chapter of the book entitled “Last Call and Last Rites: Funereal Debauchery”, none of those mashed mourners went so far as to steal a hearse (though one drunk non-mourner did plow through a funeral procession, which, in one of the book’s darker ironies, was being held for a person killed by a drunk driver).

With numerous police officers on hand, eating up time and a half as they always are on such occasions, and lead-foot funeral directors in hot pursuit, the hearse thief, who’d been drinking all day, didn’t get far. Upon his capture, the one that didn’t get away told authorities he was “going fishing”, but that first he wanted to “check out the sea conditions”. And yes, just in case you were wondering, a delivery was not waiting in the back of the commandeered death wagon. [Full story here]

The Shark Guys