1. I call it the time of my life when I am settled firmly in the ground, rotting and beginning to smell and occupying space that will inevitibly violated by desperate citizens of the future world who, fearful of the diminishing land mass of their landfills, unearth my shrunken corpse of bones and worms and hastily send me to a creamatorium. There, and only there will I be able to reak havoc on those retched, materialistic bastards by unleashing my virulent, miniscule dust cells into their children's sleeping nasal cavities.
2. Or, you could call it the end of life.