My Last Will and Toastament

You better be nice to me or I won’t leave you my plastic bags.

There are a LOT of pictures of toast on the internet. A LOT. (Photo by Leti Kugler on Unsplash)

If you’re reading this, I’m probably dead. And not “dead” as in, “OMG, your tweet is so funny, I’m dead.” No, I mean the bad dead. Dead dead. Dead as a mackerel (speaking of which, why is it always a mackerel? What about salmon? Trout? Flounder? Welp, too late to Google that now.)

Deader than a doorknob. Which, if you think about it, is a good thing. Who wants to touch a live doorknob? What would that even feel like? I’m picturing a mushroom, a large mushroom sprouting from the door which you would need to grasp and turn. But mushrooms are fragile, so that’s not going to work. One squeeze and no more doorknob. And then how do you open the door?

I just want to make it absolutely crystal clear that if you’re reading this, I am no longer alive. I am, in fact, the opposite of alive. Which is dead.

I know, I know. It’s heartbreaking. Everyone will miss my unpredictable moods and patented oatmeal cookies. (The secret is instant vanilla pudding. I can tell you that now since I’m dead.)

Anyway, let’s get to the part where I give stuff away. I know that’s the only reason you’ve read this far anyway, who am I kidding? I didn’t mix Pop Rocks and Pepsi because I had a flourishing career as a writer. No, I downed the speedball that killed LIFE…