My Grave Goods (or, How I'd Mess With Future Archaeologists)

I know this is supposed to be a very serious assignment on what sort of grave goods we'd like in our graves, and how we'd like to be remembered, but given limitless options (and money to pull it off) I don't think I'd be able to resist having fun with it and messing with the minds of future archaeologists. Here is a brief list of the things I'd want buried with me:

- Laid over the grave, a stone tablet inscribed with the words: "Here lies Queen Jennifer, who lived to the auspicious age of 1042. She is descended from the royal line of King Arthur, upon his emigration to Canada in 498 A.D. Aided by the royal wizard, Gandalf, she defeated Voldemort and brought peace to the Kingdom of Hyrule, as foretold in the Sacred Texts."

- A silver flask in my left hand. Engraved on the flask are the words: "This the actual true Holy Grail. Awarded for winning the Dance Dance Revolution (and Jousting) Competition of 2012." Inside the flask should be traces of intoxicating drink (possibly gin).

- In my right hand, a golden Nintendo Wii-mote inscribed with the words: "Ye Royal Sceptre."

- On my head, a golden circlet incribed in elvish with the words: "One ring to rule them all."

- A scattering of coins embossed with my likeness would be placed inside my boots.

- Then, just to really confuse them, I would be dressed in a monogrammed nylon track suit.

- My casket would be shaped like a TARDIS.

Imagine the chaos when my tomb is discovered hundreds of years from now! Who was this richly ornamented queen? Where are the sacred texts referred to on the stone tablet? Why does her royal sceptre require AA batteries?

There would be lively debate among Jenniferian scholars about whether I was literally or symbolically descended from a British mythological king who may or may not have existed in post-Roman Britain. Remaining fragments of Lord of the Rings, and the Harry Potter series would be poured over in humidity-controlled rooms by experts in white gloves, looking for any mention of me. Someone would publish a paper on my true age according to the skeletal remains and radio-carbon dating, flying boldly in the face of traditional scholarship's acceptance of my given age of 1042. Someone else would publish an article hypothesizing that I was a priestess and an earthly representation of the triple-aspect goddess, Galadriel-Zelda-Guinevere. A pop-science magazine would reprint the article with the spin that I may have had *~magical powers~*. Someone would speak in a symposium about how the coins in my boots were placed there so I could purchase foot rubs after my long walk to eternity.

In short, I would go to my grave assured in the knowledge that my practical joke will employ generations of future academics... at least until they find this blog entry.