I have this tumour in my gut, so I’d guess that I have the best chance of being the next one in the room to die. Once I am gone, you will feel compelled to honour my final wishes, as doing otherwise would only reaffirm my belief that I was never truly loved.
To my mother, I give my pair of sunglasses that I lost a few years ago. They were on top of the fridge but I don’t know where they are now. They disappeared during a party and I feel like one of those guys that Dave brought along with him might’ve taken them.
To Robert Downey Jr., I give Alex Baldwin’s favourite guitar.
To Wong Foo, thanks for everything. -Julie Newmar
To Ray Charles, I give my winky face.
To my former high school principal’s favourite Costco cashier, I give my final toenail clippings. They are to be used as an ingredient in the next dish you create for a potluck, a beef stroganoff to be enjoyed by all.
To the disenfranchised youth, I give my hope, cynicism, and the ability to distinguish between a stalagmite and stalactite.
To anyone who hasn’t seen House of Cards yet, I will now spoil Season 1 of the show by telling you that Frank Underwood murders Peter Russo, in episode 11, while successfully making his death appear to be a suicide.
In lieu of flowers, please make a donation in my name to your local semenary.
In lieu of crying, please bleed profusely onto the nearest corduroy couch, but not if it’s covered in plastic, which would leave it easy to clean and would only validate your grandmother’s decision to essentially ruin said couch by leaving the cover on.
Don’t you (forget about me),
Ian William Ennis Smith
[Editor’s note: This was written at some point during the 12-month period when the author did have a tumour in his gut. It is no longer there, and so Will’s will will remain in his lawyer’s care, hopefully unneeded for several more years.]
[Editor’s note 2: For obvious reasons, the author wanted me to go by a variation of his middle name in the previous editor’s note.]