Often bourbon and the behavior it inspires are expected. A ''cutthroat'' war quietly rages over whether Episcopal or Methodist ladies serve the best funeral fare (both, of course, include fried walnuts and tomato aspic). And death invites delicious gossip.

So say the pair of Southern belles who wrote a new book on the dearly departed -- particularly those who expired south of the Mason-Dixon line.

''The funerals in the South are simply fascinating,'' says Charlotte Hayes, co-author of Being Dead Is No Excuse: The Official Southern Ladies Guide to Hosting the Perfect Funeral, (Miramax Books, $19.95), an irreverent book that has demanded four printings for a total of 65,000 copies, attained a spot on the New York Times' bestseller list, and achieved near-instant cult status.

''The South is such a social place, even in death,'' says Hayes, a self-described recovering gossip columnist. ``The funeral is the last big party, and the community turns out for it.''

Each chapter of Death Is No Excuse includes stories of Delta folk dead and alive that would be disturbing if they weren't so damned amusing -- like the one about poor old Maribell Wilson, who made the fatal mistake of driving her papa's ashes home with the windows down.

POPULAR PAIR

Such are the not-so-rare anecdotes captured by this part almanac, part how-to, part recipe collection. All over the South, bookstores are selling out and authors Hayes and Gayden Metcalfe are packing 'em in to signings. Fans have even staged a mock funeral in New Orleans to honor the pair, but even moreso the peculiar pageantry and eccentricity of the institution of death in Dixie.

Recently at tiny Burkes Books in Memphis, 125 people arranged themselves on rockers donated by the owner's grandmother and a zigzagged pattern sofa that had been tamed, thankfully, by a muted beige slipcover.

Two days before, the bookstore had run out of 100 copies. A second hundred were shipped in, but they too flew off the shelves -- an hour before the signing. The authors had just started regaling the audiences with tales of bad casseroles and hot toddies when store owner Cheryl Mesler rushed to the nearby office supply store to buy makeshift book order forms.

''The book is so funny and true; you really can't make some of this stuff up,'' says Mesler, who owns the store with husband Corey. ``Funerals in the South are just one of those strange, hard-to-explain things. The book gets it.''

The authors, who both grew up in the Delta, pontificate on the finer points of what makes for a proper burial and more profoundly, the interesting ways of Southern folk -- a primer on the culinary and cultural aspects of their last rites.

Southerners, the authors declare, devote themselves to the ritual of the church and the food and the formal visiting ceremony with the same drive as they would a wedding. Paying homage to the dead is serious business.

''We won't forget you just because you've up and died. We may even like you better and visit you more often,'' says Metcalfe, an expert in etiquette.

RECIPES

The book includes recipes for what to serve ''if you plan to die tastefully anytime soon.'' And as a helpful consumer tip, the book includes a guide to stocking your own ``death-ready pantry [with] mostly nonperishable items that will outlive us all.''

A 32-page chapter is devoted to stuffed eggs (known to the rest of the free world as deviled), as well as a detailed discourse on the infinite and eternal uses of canned goods.

''Nothing whispers sympathy quite like a frozen-pea casserole with canned bean sprouts and mushroom soup,'' the book reads.

The authors explain why food plays such a prominent role in the funeral.

``Nobody eats better than the bereaved Southerner. We celebrate weddings, christenings, birthday and just about every milestone in life with food. But every Southerner vows death cooking is our very best cooking.''

For a signing at Beacoup Books in New Orleans, staffers dressed in black, organ funeral music invaded the sound system, funeral fare from Being Dead was served, arrangements of lilies were on display and hundreds of Big Easy folks stuffed themselves into the uptown store.

Beacoup ran out of the book that day; they've sold 227 to date.

''This book is familiar to people,'' says Courtney Eiswirth, events coordinator. ``The book signing turns into a wild party.''