To the goddess of soul I leave my most exciting dreams of becoming the taste tester for a very popular, though not-yet-existing ice cream parlor chain. To Ella Fitzgerald 2k2 I leave my amazing voice and below average sense of style. To my mom I leave my eyeballs.

To my favorite Casio keyboard I leave my collection of other people’s high school love notes. To whatever force has had control over my body and who has been using me like a marionette puppet for these many years I leave each and every volume of my unfinished Encyclopedia Britannica.

To the makers of HBO’s Oz I leave my dynamite. To the consumers of HBO’s Oz I leave a very long wick. To my corpse I leave a detonator. Figure that mother-fucker out, fuck-faces.