There won’t be any damn bishop on hand. Like as not there will be a frail in a collar supervising who’s never heard of me.

1. My sister will get up in the pulpit and read a long, bad, lugubrious poem about how much she loved me because she’s such a nice person even though I was always a dick. Talented but a dick.

2. Nothing else. Nothing will change for the better or worse. The nobody in the pews won’t care because there’s no reason they should. There will be only the one half, my better half, who will go home and do this.

1/2. Play 12 hours straight of Rolling Stones at Volume 11. Then the world will finally be at peace.