The Last Will and Testament of Mark D. Nicholson
Preface: I don’t intend to die any time soon. I take very good care of myself. I make regular visits to several physicians I employee, a dentist every six months, a gym five or six days every week, and try not to eat things that would kill your household pets. (The last one, I slip up on from time to time with something very chocolaty.) I plan to die when I’m in my eighties, in my bed, and quietly.
Of course, no one actually has control of such things. I was almost killed last week when I was on my bike and someone in a Ford pick-up decided he would like to occupy the same lane. He didn’t seem to care about my presence. He did see me. He avoided killing me and apologized with use of his middle finger. To that fine gentleman, fuck you sir. May you run that fine vehicle you were operating straight into a ditch and drive your insurance premiums up very high. Regardless of my road rage issue, I don’t intend to die soon. (Thankfully, a bike cannot catch a Ford pick-up because I would be writing this from a prison cell right now.)
With all that said, this will is being written for fun. It is a little morbid, but it is intended to be funny and sentimental. I hope you enjoy. End preface.
This is the last will and testament of Mark D. Nicholson whose recent tragic death in singular combat is regretful, but expected. His property and body shall be disturbed as such.
To the man/beast whom killed Mark, his title and mighty sword-gun are now bequeathed to you. If you are unsure of the duties of the titled Duke of Beefdom, go to the citadel of such things, Belle Fourche, South Dakota and learn of your new duties and responsibilities.
To his wonderful parents, Kent and Carol Nicholson, go his assets and properties with exceptions to follow. Thank you for always being supportive. Thank you for always being loving. I love you both. And finally, Mom, don’t let Dad eat on my couch. It is still nice and I know he will get crumbs everywhere.
To my awesome sister, Megan Nicholson, goes four items. First, all my video games and systems go to you. I know you will play a lot of it or trade them to Gamestop for some cool shit. The second thing is all my Calvin and Hobbes and Peanuts books. They are funny and smart. You dig it. The third thing is five hundred dollars. Why? Because. I want to give you five hundred dollars. The fourth thing is my stuffed puppy that I have had since childhood. I trust you with my best friend. If you want anything else not listed here, work it out with Mom and Dad. Don’t let Dad eat on the couch.
To my good friend, Patrick Blythe, I leave you my bike. You always complain about not exercising and this is your good friend giving you that opportunity from the grave to do so. See how helpful I’m still being.
To my friend, Layne Groesth, I leave you my Star Wars poster and a twenty-five dollar gift card to La Hacienda. I think you will like the poster, and I have always enjoyed having lunch with you. Have one more on me.
To my friend, Russ Wright, I leave my animated films to watch with your daughters. They are funny and I like the idea of you watching those movies with them.
To my large extended family, I leave… I don’t know, my warm thoughts? I don’t have the much stuff.
To my friend, Patrick Adamson, a portion of my estate will be used to sponsor a trip to find singer Nora Jones. Upon finding her, you will slap her on the ass and say “Mark always dug you sugar tits.†After saying this, you will walk away and say no more. Naturally, an expense report will be turned in for accuracy of expenses and an additional payment of two hundred dollars for your trouble.
In regards to my body, it shall be cremated and placed in a rather heavy urn. The ashes shall be taken to Antoni Scalia and chucked at his face. Do not remove the ashes from the urn. Throw the entirety at his fat, stupid face. Afterwards, simply walk away. My real hope is that it will do serious enough damage to get him off the Supreme Court.
Lastly, to Manic Expression, I bequeath the intellectual property rights to everything I ever posted on the site or YouTube as it is all I have ever shared with you guys, and it is now yours in perpetuity.
OtherDude92, don’t be any nicer. People always tell you to be nicer. Fuck it. Be you even if it is a little irritating to someone else.
SomeJerkFromBoston, fuck you. Not in a mean way. It is like saying high in guy culture. Trust me.
T-kun, keep writing good stuff. It is something I look forward to every day.
MovieFan12, I like you. That is guy culture too.
Les, I would like my parents to send you my old black hat. I think it would look good on you.
James, I know you doubted it when you started ME, but thanks for going out on that limb.
To everyone else who I choose not to list individually because I am tired of typing, thanks. It has been real. Keep it up.
Thus ends the last will and testament of Mark D. Nicholson.
Soul patches suck.
