I was told the most responsible thing I can do for my family is have a Last Will and Testament. Really? Just staying alive isn’t enough? Well, I’m busy doing things like breathing right now, but I had a moment to write down a few directives.
I will start out with a formal greeting from beyond: “Hey, everybody…well, shit…I died. So here is some paperwork so I can boss you around from the grave.”
And then, because there’s tears involved, everyone has to do exactly what I say. And they will too because if The Walking Dead has taught us nothing it’s that you don’t fuck with dead people .
1. Cremate me. And, at my funeral, pass me out in cute, little party favor bags for attendees to dump in random, kick-ass places. This works because I really like to travel. It’s brilliant because then they can go to the remembrance place of their choice when they wanna have a ghost-talk with me and I can laugh to their face for chatting with thin air. Disclaimer: this is only in the event Johnny Depp will not allow me to be buried with him, side-by-side, in his casket, for all of eternity. If Johnny wants to pretend that what we have isn’t real then please do just light me on fire.
2. My obituary should be honest and factual. I have lots of sisters & a child whom I love deeply, that should be in there…along with the phrase “Sheila rarely wore panties.”
3. If, at any point before my demise, I am ever considered brain-dead please pull the plug but, since you are now in charge of my exact expiration date make it a good one…people will always remember me on that day so choose a day when people will only remember for a short time because they’re getting blackout drunk like on St. Patrick’s Day, the Fourth of July, and Mother’s Day.
4. At my wake there will be a gameshow to get rid of my crap. You know what they say, “You can’t take it with you, so award it to your family in fabulous cash & prizes.”
5. We’ll revisit number 5 when weed is absolutely legal.
And then I end with a poignant truth: “I loved most of you.”