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When I die, cremate my body over the flames of burning Christmas trees, complete with decorations. I always hated Christmas. As the sun's glowing crown takes its last glimmering breath and sinks below the skyline, dipping fast behind buildings that's touch the sky pink, scatter my ashes from the top of the highest sky scraper in any city. And for Christ's sake, don't worry about the wind, I want to go wherever it takes me.
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