My white trash roots are constantly asserting themselves, especially when it comes to food. I’m addicted to French’s yellow mustard, the cheapest and yellowest mustard available, I douse that shit on everything. I’m also addicted to Daiya cheese, because I’m deathly allergic to all dairy, and also to casein too, so Daiya is the only fake cheese I can eat. I melt that shit upon all my meals. Recently I bragged about some dinner I made, and ate with pathos and gusto. Dylan said, “Did you put mustard on it.” I said, “Yes.” Dylan said, “And how about Daiya cheese.” In came the other affirmative. “At my open coffin funeral,” I said, “you should just sprinkle Daiya cheese all up and down my corpse. Squirt a big yellow heart on my face with French’s mustard, so I can die as I lived!” Dylan gazed at me. I saw resignation mingled with fondness. I’ll probably still be talking from the coffin though, not even death will shut me up. Take a final coffin selfie too, for Instagram, and for science.