The town where I am located is about to be hit with a bout of apparently apocalyptic weather. Therefore, I will take the most logical course of action to save my hometown: chaining myself to one of those spikes that you attach a dog’s leash to, and then shout at the storm until it goes away.
“NOW YOU CUT THAT OUT!”
If, come morning, I have shuffled off this mortal coil, please follow these instructions:
1. a) Take my body and place it in the passenger seat of my 1994 Chevy Cavalier, along with rations, my laptop, one of those portable wi-fi plugs with amazing range, my entire book collection, and any offerings you feel I should have in the afterlife;
b) Get a volunteer to drive (this person should be someone loyal to me, and willing to give their life for the greater Awesomeness That Was Tony, finding the idea of living in a world without me a truly horrifying notion (an attractive young lady, preferably (parentheses INCEPTION!)));
c) As we drive into the sunset, fire a bazooka at us.
This accomplishes 3 things: since I don’t have a boat, and there aren’t any sufficiently sized bodies of water around, this is probably the closest I’ll ever get to the Viking Funeral I absolutely deserve. Also, in case the Egyptians got it right, I will have plenty of food and entertainment, as well as someone to keep me company, for the rest of eternity; if they didn’t get it right, then none of you freeloaders benefit from my hard-earned stuff. Also: hey, explosions!
This is the best funeral ever!
2. Read this as the car smoulders:
To my family: I love you forever, and I did it all for you.
To my friends: I enjoyed your company while it lasted, and I hope I wasn’t too unbearable when I got… unbearable. Thanks for all the stuff I mooched off you.
To that special someone: I’ll love you forever, too, (you know who you are; now, if you could just tell ME who you are, that would be splendid) and I really did it all for you, not my family, cause they suck (that’s what they get for not letting me build a time machine out of that broken washing machine when I was 8). Please don’t tell them.
To my enemies: for your sake, I hope I failed and the storm hit you with flying cows.
The cows did nothing wrong, but they’re the biggest animals hereabouts; were we in Africa, twould be elephants.
If I don’t die, and the world still exists tomorrow, your undying adulation would be appropriate.
That is all.
*Editor’s note: Tony is very sleepy right now, but stuck at work for another 1.5 hours. Please forgive him for this rambling. His parents don’t suck, but his enemies can be struck by cows if they so desire.*
*Edit: The Morning After* Okay, I didn’t die. In fact, I didn’t even get a chance to shout at the storm since I was at work while the danged thing was going on. So, basically this post was pointless. Also, going back and reading it, I kind of cringe.
Whatever. We’ll use this as my standing Last Will and Testament.