Are you a big graveyard promoter, or do you let your local cemetery lie fallow and ignored? Take this quiz to find out!

  1. 1. Check off each of the promotional stunts you enacted on behalf of the graveyard:
    My personal vehicle is a billboard truck with a billboard shaped like a tombstone, and the tombstone says “Rest In Pleasure…at the graveyard!”
    Whenever I see someone frail, I hand them an informational pamphlet about the benefits of burial.
    I convinced a deli to add a sandwich to the menu called the Gravedigger’s Delight, which is a grilled chicken “corpse” beneath a rye bread “tombstone,” and you better believe there are sautéed onion “worms” on it.
    The police arrested me for streaking at a Baltimore Orioles game with my genitals covered by a small paper tombstone.
    Roughly 80 percent of my annual income is spent printing T-shirts that show a skeletal hand sticking out of a grave to give a thumbs-up, and I distribute these shirts for free at local high schools.
    I painted the words “6 Feet Under Of Excitement!” on my roof for passing pilots to read.
    In partnership with a local community college, I organized a free seminar to teach tombstone carvers how to build a simple but elegant online portfolio.
    I hired several sexy “Crypt Girls” to wander the floor at Comic-Con and hand out pamphlets about the benefits of burial.
    I convinced a deli to add Maggot Fries to the menu, which, of course, are crinkle-cut fries covered in shredded mozzarella, and don’t forget the white gravy “pus.”
    The phrase “BURIAL? OF COURSE!” is tattooed on my forehead.
    I wrote a paid advertorial for Esquire magazine that described the stylish benefits of burial enjoyed by deceased author Ernest Hemingway.
    The rear fender of my personal vehicle is chained to a coffin on wheels that it tows everywhere, and the coffin is open so that an actor dressed as a corpse can sit up in it and wave at passing cars.
    In partnership with several local elementary schools, I organized field trips so that children could visit the cemetery and get their picture taken while lying in an open grave.
    While in prison for streaking at a Baltimore Orioles game, I held a four-week hunger strike until the prison warden agreed to buy a joint burial plot.
    Thousands of people entered my “Guess How Many Human Bones Are In The Jar?” sweepstakes to win a free embalming.
    Every year, I organize and run in a charity marathon to raise awareness of burial.
    I slowly drove a hearse through Times Square to lead a fake funeral procession, and the Broadway cast of The Lion King drove the cars behind me while singing “Have You Considered Burial?,” a song with lyrics of my own composition to the tune of “Can You Feel The Love Tonight?”
    I convinced a deli to add the Cemetery Sundae to the dessert menu, which is a scoop of strawberry ice cream “flesh” covered in hot fudge “dirt” and black sprinkle “widows,” and topped with a cherry that doesn’t represent anything.
    My legal name was changed to Burial Certainly.
    I portray the graveyard mascot The Content Cadaver on local television ads, and visit elementary schools, high schools, and community colleges while in costume to spread the word about the advantages of burial.
    When it’s finally time for me to get buried, I have something big planned.