Big Bopper Conspiracy Theory

It’s November in Texas and that can only mean one thing — conspiracy theories will come out of the wood work. JFK, Oswald, and Jack Ruby theories usually abound but it seems a different one has been brewing down in South Texas. A few days ago, the casket of the Big Bopper was exhumed at Forest Lawn Cemetery in Beaumont, Texas. Now, I’ve seen his gravesite — right after Hurricane Rita — and I can tell you that it wasn’t very impressive, given that the Big Bopper was such an imposing man and phenomenal songwriter. But the old casket evidently held up pretty well as the Big Bopper was still looking pretty dapper. According to one witness, “The Bopper had dang beautiful skin. And he didn’t have no bullet holes in him neither.” I guess the Big Bopper Jr. was worried that Buddy Holly might have shot him because his gun was found at the airplane crash site 50 freakin’ years ago. Like Buddy was trying to steal the lyrics to “The Purple People Eater Meets the Witch Doctor.” I rest my case. Can you say publicity stunt?

But that’s not what’s important here. I’m going on the record here and now that I don’t want to be pickled and buried. I want to be cremated. If I died tomorrow, I don’t want people oohing and aahing over the state of my body — “She always did have a poor complexion” or “she should have worn a hat more often.” Everybody don’t have the Bopper’s beautiful skin.

And I could never pull off a hat like he did.


Published in: on November 4, 2007 at 6:49 pm  Comments (1)  
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One CommentLeave a comment

  1. Hello, Baaaay-bee! Stackhats, I don’t understand you. Why would you deny future generations the opportunity to exclaim over your chantilly lace and your pretty face and your ponytail, hanging down? Sure, the wiggle in your walk and the giggle in your talk will be long gone, but the amateur archaelogists among us don’t have any trouble imagining those.

    I can see why you might not want to be exhumed so soon after burial — better to wait a few thousand years so you’re a bit of a mystery. I am myself most anxious to be a bog body, something along the lines of Tollund Man. Not that I want to be garroted, get my throat slashed and be bashed over the head (I have my limits, and overkill is over-kill) but I wouldn’t mind lying in state in some future museum.

    That’s why I insist on being interred in an enormous Viking ship, surrounded by riches. Don’t believe the nay-sayers, Stackhats. You can take it with you!

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