Partly Cloudy, 64°
If you are reading this, it can mean only one thing: I, Jim Henson, trailblazing puppeteer, have passed on. Sad, yes, but let’s not dwell on that. What you must know is this: my ashes are hidden in one of the Muppets. But I cannot tell you which one, because I myself do not know.
I told my family years ago to someday hide my ashes in a Muppet. Since I invented the Muppets, it would make sense to find my final resting place inside of one. But I didn’t tell them the precise Muppet in which to stow my remains. Which is why I can only tell you that, if you are looking for my ashes, your best bet is to check all of the Muppets.
Personally, I think it would be tacky to hide my cremated body in some big name Muppet like Kermit or Piggy or even Pepe the King Prawn. I’d like something more obscure to serve as my lovable, plush coffin. I would be content finding an eternal home in the likes of Crazy Harry, Doctor Teeth, or even Bobo the Bear. Maybe my spirit, and my physical remains, will live on in someone especially kooky, like Dr. Bunsen Honeydew or Camilla the Chicken. But all of this is speculation. Because the fact is that no one will ever know for sure which Muppet contains my ashes until they find the ashes for themselves, perhaps in the middle of a rollicking Electric Mayhem set or a rip-roaring Statler and Waldorf bit. My family is taking this secret to the grave.
Will I regret these instructions to conceal my ashes in one of thousands of the distinct, human-like puppets that came straight from my very own mind? I don’t think so. The Muppets are the one thing I do best. So let’s put my ashes in them!
