Last Will and Testament

Given the eerie calm following the insanity of trying to plan my impending journey at least 50% of the people making the trip think this might just be it. All she wrote. Etc.

Since I’ve always wanted to write a will I figure now is as good a time as any. So here goes:

I, myself, being of unsound mind and unfit body do ordain this to be my last will and testament.

I never really liked any of you. I was just pretending. I’m good at pretending.

My executor should be my brother. In case he’s unavailable, someone go find the Limey, tell him I’m dead and watch for his reaction. If it’s anything less than unbearable grief make him do the leg work of executing this document but make sure he gets nothing.

All my kit gets divided up between Limey and Kinney – subject to the aforementioned restrictions.

All my toys should go to Wilbur, he’ll appreciate them.

My mass of technological stuff should go to my York connection, if she wants it.

Out of the paltry sum of money I have, a couple of hundred should go to a big damn wake to which everyone who’s ever known me is invited. Booze and grub’s on me kids. The remainder should go in some sort of market fund to raise cash to buy me a massive funerary monument. I want the biggest one around, something that makes you feel guilty when you drive by the cemetery without stopping to say hello. And if you bring me whiskey, no passing it through your kidneys first. Savages.

Of the above-mentioned items anyone who can think of something they want or want back needs to get in touch with the executor. Dibs will be honored wherever possible.

Whatever’s left should be sold for the best price possible and those funds put towards the aforementioned monument.

I’d just like to say it’s been real and it’s been fun but I wouldn’t say it’s been real fun.

Toodles.

SR

That ought to about cover it.