The Sandbox: Word to your mummy

We're all gonna die, but with a little bit of luck and a whole lotta money, you--or at least your body--can last forever. For the price of a Duke education, the Summum mummification organization of Salt Lake City offers the chance of a lifetime. Nay, an eternity.

Modern mummification is performed at Summum headquarters by certified mummy-makers (thanatogeneticists, to the layperson) trained in the ancient arts of bodily preservation. Upon arrival, your remains are bathed, dipped and soaked--preserved, for all intents and purposes, like a glorified dill pickle.

It's the way of the future for the discerning and well-endowed dead. Lest your evenings of treadmilling, stair-stepping and Jazzercising go for naught, Summum promises the eternal preservation of that taut tummy and tight ass. "Mummification could be appealing to anyone who works hard at staying in shape," the organization gushes. "Just because you've died, why not end things on a high note?"

Indeed, at Summum, everyone's invited to join the eternal party. Parakeets go for a few thousand bucks, kitties for a few thousand more and golden retrievers for a cool hundred grand. Jury's out on goldfish, but where there's a will there's a way.

In a world of change, your pathetic, meaningless existence is one more smear on the great windshield of life. You won't last forever. "At some point," admits Summum founder Corky Ra, "the sun will go nova and the planet will be destroyed." Until then, indulge, and rest assured: You'll last long enough to burden your children's children's children with your thoroughly marinated and exquisitely preserved carcass.