Future archeologists will recognize us by our coffins. Tediously sifting through silt and debris, mostly junk food wrappers, left by many generations, one of them might exclaim, "Lk! Ts cskt!" (Translation: "Look! It’s a casket!") Countless decades of abbreviated text messaging on cell phones and other communication devices will have taken their toll on vowels and less essential words in our language. The archeologists will quickly determine that the casket dates back to the early 2000's, also known as The Food Gorge Age, during the reign of President George the Third. It was long before synthetic food capsules replaced actual food and the receding waters of the Atlantic revealed another continent. Upon hearing about the casket discovery, historians of the future will recall a time when appetites outweighed common sense and eating twice as much food for a few more coins seemed like a wise choice. Archeologists will know the precise age of the casket because it will measure 44 inches wide, reflecting a time when both food portions and caskets were super-sized to accommodate super-sized people. That might not be fiction, written in time for the upcoming Halloween. According to The New York Times, triple-wide coffin sales for Goliath Casket of Lynn, Ind., are off the charts. The demand for their 44-inch-wide coffins (much roomier than the standard 24-inch width) has increased 20 percent a year since they opened in the 1980s. "People are getting wider," noted the company’s owner. As a result of this new trend, we must no longer assume that the new "triple-wide" recently purchased by a friend is a mobile home in Florida. He might be referring to a much more permanent underground housing. It might be advisable to hold off buying a housewarming gift until you know for sure. If the oversized caskets are purchased now for future needs, it would seem a shame to store so much lovely, polished wood out of sight. By incorporating the attractive piece of craftsmanship into a living room setting, for example, several purposes might be served. The casket could be used as a handsome coffee table, wide enough to hold several jumbo-sized pizza boxes while you and your family eat and watch TV. As an added bonus, the container could serve as a handy storage space for ample supplies of potato chips, deep-fried pork rinds and your other favorite snacks. It would no longer be necessary to walk all the way to the kitchen, burning off who-knows-how-many calories. The combination casket and coffee table might be a perfect companion piece of furniture for a "smart sofa," now being developed at Trinity College in Dublin, Ireland. A couch potato’s dream, the sofa can tell who’s sitting on it (based on weight), tune the TV to favorite programs, and order that person’s favorite take-out foods. The sofa’s tiny microprocessors would also network with household appliances. When the end would come, an eventual certainty, for a person owning both a smart sofa and a casket-turned-coffee table, his ample girth could be simply rolled from one piece of furniture into the other in very little time and with minimal effort. The entire transfer might last no longer than a TV commercial. Now, that’s thoughtful.
