The Best Death Ever

This is my funeral.
Arnold in his Sunday's Best,
Collared shirt and sweater vest.
He says,
"He was a good kid
And was loved by his mother and father,
But he didn't have enough time
TO GET TO THE CHOPPAH!"
Clothes rip as he poses for them all,
As poles flanking my coffin
Stretch to the height of the wall.
And the ladies begin to dance
As eyes advance to a revealed IMAX screen
A fighter jet with machine guns,
And me.
I jerk with the impact of each bullet
As would marionettes dance and dangle,
Repeated slow motion,
And shot seven angles.
My dead smile would be seen
Plastered there on my face
As the place shakes with uproar
And bulls on parade.