How to fake your own death

If there is a running theme to this blog, it's this: comeuppance. I love comeuppance like a junkie loves junk. Today, Holly Watt from The Washington Post released the sort of story that makes sugar plums dance in my head:

A hedge-fund manager who faked his own suicide and went on the run after being convicted of defrauding investors of millions of dollars turned himself in yesterday at a police station in Massachusetts.

Sure, I've thought about faking my own death--who hasn't? The value of Alex Dolan autographed memorabilia (largely old tax forms) would shoot through the roof. But let's take a closer look at how he "dun it":

His sport-utility vehicle was found June 9 on the Bear Mountain Bridge 150 feet above the Hudson River, about 40 miles north of New York City. The engine was running, and "Suicide is painless," the title of the theme song for the "M.A.S.H." television show, was scratched in the dust on the car's hood.

When Israel's body was not found after a lengthy search, the federal authorities launched a nationwide manhunt.

As much as I love comeuppance, I do have a soft spot for anyone who drops a M.A.S.H. reference in their suicide note. More importantly, this begs the question: how does one correctly fake their own suicide? If a hedge-fund mastermind such as this can't get away with it, what chance do I have?

My best guess follows the steps outlined below. Disclaimer: I'm no CSI or police expert, so use at your own risk:

1. You need a body. Look around--who looks like you? Who might look like you if you glued a fake nose and wig on them? Think outside the box. I'm pretty sure you can use a mannequin if you dress it in your clothing and leave your diver's license in the pocket.
   
2. Your note: short and to the point. No one wants to read a long note--hell, I'm surpsied you made it this far down on my blog. This is one thing our hedge-fund hero had right. Be pithy, and think of your note as a sort of "suicide slogan." Possibilities include: "Can't wait to meet Leona Helmsley" or "The Washington Generals Suck."
   
3. The new you. Face it--you're not Stuart Sugarman, investment banker, anymore. You're Jane Campion, award winning writer and director of "The Piano." Enjoy your Oscar.
   
4. Don't turn yourself in. As much as you'll be tempted to run into a crowded police station and confess, resist the urge. It's much more fun when the police burst in on you.