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Nowadays, my friends and relations take for granted my habit of losing my head. Indeed, some of them assert that my predilection for autodecapitation is actually a hobby! Believe it or not, there was a time when casual acquaintances and even dear friends were alarmed to discover me headless. I remember the first time I severed my head as if it were yesterday. I shan't bother you with the details leading to the separation of my head from my body, but the effect it had on my comrades was illuminating...and hot. Very hot. Apparently, they thought I was dead, so they decided to build a largish funeral pyre, reattach my head, and lay me on top of it. As I reflect on it now, I admit it was quite considerate of them, but I was a wee bit concerned about their hastiness. No sooner had the physician said, "I pronounce this man-" then they were scurrying about to set me on fire. I suppose in the clamor one could easily mistake the word "alive" for "dead." It's possible. With the noise and all. I remember hearing one of them shouting, "Here lies Cuparius! May he go to hell-o Cuparius! You are alive! What are you doing on that burning pile of rubbish? You should get down from there! You're liable to be burned!" Aye, true friends are a man's only true wealth. :-?
Och, and I'd like to thank my loyal comrade, J.G. Heck, for his lively engraving of the solemn occasion. And a special thanks to Spookster14 for her willingness and enthusiasm in lighting the blaze that nearly consumed me. You're a peach :-)