This is my last will and testament. I have no other wills.
I am of sound mind and body, so trust me.
I leave everything to Carrie Limkilde. If she is dead, too, I leave it all to Julia, my daughter. If, god forbid, she is dead too, I leave it all to Leigh Norman. I can’t imagine that we’d all croak at the same time, but if dad’s barbeque finally did blow up (say) give it to Jameson.
If I’m in some terrible near-death, barely-there situation, let me croak. I have no particular attachment to life, so think Dutch when it comes to doing me in. Give whatever organs still work to someone who might use them.
That’s it: those are the rules. Everything that follows is advice.
I’d like to be cremated and shot out of an avalanche cannon. Or buried behind my parents’ house in the Carolinian forest. Derek is the man for this job.
If Derek fails (the shame), I would like to be buried somewhere nice in a cheap coffin. Let the worms get at me.
I would like a proper piss up wake. I like that song “If I ever leave this world alive”. Try to get someone to play it live. Everyone should wear black and drink and sing and be done with me. There should be no tears the day after.
I would like to leave some money to Trent Fencing and the Trent Philosophy Department. If I die rich, give some big chunk to each–like $10,000. That’d be awesome. Please make my donations no strings attached, and for god’s sake, don’t make it a memorial thing. I would, ideally, like some student who is in financial need to get a cheque for $500 in a letter that says “Somebody died and left you this money. Buy your friends a round of bourbon and spend the rest on books.”