The Long Black Limousine

Millions along the streets in our larger cities and on TVs throughout the world watched it.  Drums echoed soft, spaced beats by teenage boys in colorful uniforms and horns held mournful undertones from pretty young blondes and brunets in skimpy dress.
"What's going on; what's this parade about?"
"Where've you been, sleeping under some rock?  Publicity's  been going on about this for weeks . . . the world finally agreed on the most handsome, muscular, wealthy man in the world and matched  him with the most beautiful, feminine, intelligent, courageous blonde in the world; married them and everybody marveled at how happy -- that's who's in that long, black limousine."

"Why's it moving so slowly,  and why's everybody so quiet?"
"The two of them committed suicide -- they had it all, and up and hung it up."
"Why?"
"Who knows . . . just left a note that said 'We're dead, now what?' "
"And what's that old wagon behind it -- being pulled by a horse, looking like something out the Ol' West, going to Boot Hill -- got to do with it?"
"Some newspaper thought that up . . . got the world to agree on the two ugliest, po'assed dead people they could find in the country and put'em in that wagon."
"For What":

"They say they'll give anybody a million dollars who can tell them what that whole scene means."
"Man . . !"
"You can keep looking at that raggedy ol' wagon and horse all you want, I'm looking at that long, black limousine."
"What if that suicide note was asking 'What if all this material, immaterial, moral and immoral stuff that we get attached to is only relative to something we don't yet -- and never will -- know about? What if death makes life a joke?"
"If it's a joke, why aren't you laughing?"
"Ha . . !"
"Mmm . . . at least you tried."