I recently heard a couple of good one ones.
“When I die, I want to be cremated and shot down a well in a load of barite.”
" When I die, I want to be cremated. That way my old lady can put me in a douche bag and run me through one more time."
When I die I wanna be cremated, ashes put in a community dark roast can and pitched over the side in Viosca Knoll 203…
these request seem silly, But I did heard a story about an old Tool pusher who worked on ODECO’s Mr. Charlie all his career. he requested that when he died, his ashes would be pumped down hole. when he finally passed, the rig was stacked somewhere off the coast of Louisiana. ODECO had the crew stand the derrick up and run a few stands of pipe down in the mud, mixed his ashes in the slug pit and pumped it down!!!
when I die, I want to be cremated and my ashes put in a “suitable recepticle” namely a Folger’s coffee can from Ralph’s and then be scattered all through “the Dude’s” beard
either that or be crammed into an old oil drum and my body picked with diesel then buried in the Fresh Kills somewhere.
[QUOTE=c.captain;137040]when I die, I want to be cremated and my ashes put in a “suitable recepticle” namely a Folger’s coffee can from Ralph’s and then be scattered all through “the Dude’s” beard
either that or be crammed into an old oil drum and my body picked with diesel then buried in the Fresh Kills somewhere.[/QUOTE]
Are you kiddin’? We’re gunna shoot you out through the forward turret of the USS Missouri.
[QUOTE=Fraqrat;137010]When I die I wanna be cremated, ashes put in a community dark roast can and pitched over the side in Viosca Knoll 203…[/QUOTE]
We actually had a ceremony on a vessel I worked on and spread the ashes of this guy’s dad. His Dad was a rig mover and wanted to be buried at sea. I don’t remember the exact block, but it was a little south of the loop field.
[QUOTE=PaddyWest2012;137054]Are you kiddin’? We’re gunna shoot you out through the forward turret of the USS Missouri.[/QUOTE]
as a minstrel once wrote in a song…
“the cannons don’t thunder, there’s nothing to plunder…arriving too late, arriving too late!”
We were towing dump scows out of Boston in the late 90’s. Tiny, the massive endangered species observer we were required to haul every trip came aboard with a red & white striped Bucket from Kentucky Fried Chicken. "So Tiny, KFC? Our grub ain’t good enough for ya?"
Tiny slid back the cardboard top of the container, filled with grey ash. “Nah, it’s my Dad, Going to scatter his ashes offshore tonight!”