On the heels of my juice fast, I have been stricken with the stomach virus that plagued my son earlier this week. So if you see me and confuse me for Kate Moss, I assure you I am not purging. Or at least not intentionally.
Do I have Ebola? Of course not. Am I nevertheless dying? Almost certainly.
And so, as I lie here on the cold tile of the bathroom floor, I draft this codicil to my will before my friends, and friends of friends, and spouses of my coworkers who liked that one post that one time about a beer mess or a naked intruder or a raccoon attack or some such:
To my lovely wife, I leave my formerly mint condition copy of The Fish Police #1 comic book – for which I had saved up my lawn mowing money as an adolescent, and into which she angrily threw a ninja star during an argument, rendering it worthless (or at least before fickle consumers chose to do so with the passage of time).
To my friend Tom, during this year which marks our 30th Friendiversary, I leave the Tommy Lasorda baseball card which I defaced with a stapler in 1987 as a dramatic counterpoint to his then almost fanatic insistence that all baseball cards deserve respect.
To my brother Patrick, I leave my collection of X-Men comic books – oh wait, you sold them all for beer money when I left home for college, you rat bastard!
To my friend Denis, I return his untouched copy of Cry The Beloved Country, which was assigned reading during our senior year, and which I stole as an experiment to see whether he would even notice (he did not).
To my debate partner Ted, I leave the 6ft x 8ft championship banner bearing our names that they hung in our high school cafeteria which, despite what you might think, makes for lousy home decoration. May it bless your home and marriage as it has mine.
To my friend Peej, I leave my Marton Stromgald deck, together with my Mox Saphire and my dozen never before played Polar Kraakens, because it’s his fault I know what those words mean.
To my friend Derek, I leave the giant, pain-in-the-ass marine aquarium he talked me into buying on the promise he would “love me forever” if I did so. Had I but known the high price of permanent love . . .
To my brother-in-law Sean, I leave my half-finished manuscript* in which The Goat Warrior finally defeats Tartartar The Living Vomit, together with the Illuminati board game that I swiped from you.
*There is no such manuscript.
Further codicils and/or instructions for my funeral to follow shortly, hopefully from the couch, with a decent pillow for my head and not a wadded pile of towels. If I expire before my next post, I predict my image will still appear on our holiday card, mayhap with a halo above it, or cherub wings, or golden trumpets heralding my arrival. Or at least a festive hat. Tastefully festive though. I can’t be seen posthumously appearing in the beaver belt cowboy hat for crying out loud.
Godspeed, fellow citizens! May your evening be less unpleasant than mine.