Would you rather be a vegetable? His father asked.
No. He said.
Then Sign it.
And that’s the way you kill yourself.
My mother says, I couldn’t commit suicide.
My mother says, Promise me you wouldn’t let me live like that.
I promise.
My father says, When I’m ready to die, I’ll swim out to the sea.
My father’s father says, I’m doing as good as I can, and I’m grateful for every day.
My mother’s father said, If I ever deteriorate beyond a point where I don’t want to live, I won’t continue on for someone else.
Montaigne said, When we learn to die, we unlearn how to be slaves.
I like vegetables.
I try to avoid rotten fruit.
I don’t eat the comatose.
I signed my living will when I got my wisdom teeth removed. I’m lying. It was my tonsils. And if I’m lying, I’m dying. So it was my wisdom teeth. It was 8 A.M. on a weekday, sixteen and stipulating my life to complete strangers. This is true. Then I handed away the form, my life as a medical form, handed it away. I’m assuming these stipulations filed, photocopied, maybe digitized. God, I hope digitized. If not, let this document I am writing stand for all authorities as my current testament from a sound mind.
Should any injuries put me in a coma (the bad kind, not the daytime soap opera type)
I do not want: life support, a tube in my throat, your pity.
I do want: daily updates on celebrity news, around the clock foot massages, a pint of Ben & Jerry’s Cherry Garcia (not for eating, as I’m in a coma).
In the event that I lose any limbs, I do not want them sewn back on, donate them to lion trainers, but always save my middle finger, I’ll need that.
If I contract any terminal disease, I give permission to my caregiver to buy me a bottle of Irish whiskey and the biggest bag of marijuana they can find.
If/When I grow up, I’ll require a daily reminder as to why.
If I lose my memory, I prefer to be told that I am a transgender F to M, and that is why my penis is small.
In case of a national emergency or a reinstatement of the draft, you’ll know where to find me: Canada.
In case of national starvation due to misappropriated funds, ponzi schemes, and bank failures: eat me first. Go ahead, I’m gamy.
In case of emergency, pull handle.
If an albatross should dive at high altitudes beak first into my skull, don’t worry about it.
If I get held-up by Brad Pitt and Edward Norton behind a liquor store, I want my dignity to be kept stable through sponge baths and electro-shock therapy.
If I ever have an organ transplant and it’s rejected: tell the organ it’s stupid and my body didn’t like it anyway.
If struck by lightning: climb on the roof and put the metal rod back in my hand. I want to test this “doesn’t strike twice” theory.
If I quit my job at the butcher shop and become a vegetarian: don’t be surprised.
If/when I stop smiling, I give anyone permission to say “This too shall pass.”
If I ever become _______, I reserve the right to ______.
In the eventuality of my death:
Give my best to all my friends and enemies.
Remember who you are, not who I was.
Reread this list; then burn it.
Eat a s’more: they’re quite tasty.
To my friend, Ludafish, I leave all my records and a half eaten box of animal crackers (to be half-eaten at an undisclosed time).
To Adam Smith, I leave the rotting carcass of capitalism.
To my people, the world is yours. Whose world is this? The world is yours! The world is yours!
Whatever time I had left, use it wisely.
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