In life it’s generally implied that we all have to die. Those of us who had normal childhoods usually found this out when a relative with a lot of built up anger and a heart three sizes too small gave us money to go get ice cream and said, "I hope you get hit by that ice cream truck and die." And to be honest, it was a pretty cool thing he said when you know that he could’ve just molested you, or even worse, given you socks with the words "World’s Greatest Ass" on them as a present (for me, it was both scenarios).

In order to deal with an impending death in a productive way, we write wills! Writing wills is one thing we do to feel better about taking an eventual dirt nap, even though putting on goth clothes and smoking smelly cigarettes to look deep is another equally good option (and a super cool one at that; all the popular kids are doing it). In the midst of a ton of sexier options, we still choose to write wills to feel better and have some sort of control over getting hit by an ice cream truck, because unfortunately, we can’t all be this guy:

Old muscular man
Can you guess who drinks unicorn blood?

I’ve spent a lot of time deciding which people deserve my things, which if you didn’t know, is hard as hell. To tell you the truth, I still don’t believe anyone is worthy enough to own my tiger costume, mainly because I haven’t met anybody who can get balls-out wasted and wear it with pride at a zoo. That, and I don’t have a tiger costume. I’ll have one eventually, but I like to think that it’s with me in spirit (and going extinct every passing second). Regardless of how hard choosing people to be in my will is, or the even harder task of giving all my cool shit away, I got my head in the game, listened to Tim Gunn for once (which we all should really do more often), and made it work.

Tim Gunn
Tim Gunn can help you stitch your shit together.

Usually other people’s wills (or at least the ones I’ve seen/stared at blankly) start by including their family members, while neglecting anyone else who probably influenced their lives more than, say, the person who pushed them out of their vagina. I should probably do the same thing since I owe my life to my family. I also remember the countless times that they screwed me over, so I guess they can go fuck themselves.

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So let’s get started.

If you look next to my closet, you will see a guitar. This guitar is very important—probably the most important piece of decoration in the state of Michigan…or Thailand. You may be asking yourself, "Why is this glorious gift from god collecting dust in that boss bachelor pad of yours?" Well the reason it’s there is because ants successfully planned and executed a terrorist attack on the guitar’s G-string. This resulted in a missing string, and me feeling less deep. I could stop being a procrastinator and just replace the string but I’m lazy and have to entrust it to somebody, so I’ll just continue to pretend that I lost my hands in a freak "Where’s Waldo" accident. So in the sad but "not very surprising" event of my death, disappearance, or transportation to another dimension, I leave my guitar to the ghost of Britney Spears. I’m leaving it to the "ghost" of Britney Spears because even though my chances of dying are pretty high, I’m still pretty sure I’ll outlive her. To top this all off, the reason I’ve decided to give my guitar to Britney (aka "the Britz," to nobody) is because it’s a good source of inspiration and it makes your hair grow faster.

Britney Spears bald
Just in case this ever happens again…

Even though many people need this, I’ve decided to leave my beloved compass to the children of Japan. It was really hard to decide on just one Japanese child, so either they can share it (’cause sharing is caring) or they can set up a country-wide karate tournament in my name and battle for it. Would they battle instead of sharing the compass? Well, I assume every East Asian child (actually most kids) would do anything for a little direction in life.

Fortune cookie fortune paper
Misfortune cookie can’t think of anything nice to say.

The collection of Snapple caps and fortune cookie fortunes I’ve collected over the years have taught me most of what I know today. Literally. Those little pieces of paper have given me invaluable guidance, while the caps have taught me about the world. And I have to give props to both of those things, because without them, I wouldn’t be making the terrible decisions that I do today. These glorified artifacts (or garbage, if you really want to be a dick) are very important and must go to somebody with balls of steel, preferably a weak body builder. So I leave my Snapple caps and fortune cookie fortunes to Bam Margera. I think we can all agree he’s the only one with the mental willpower to handle them.

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Due to the constant need of organ donors, I would like to give my kidneys to the coaches on The Biggest Loser. My sick psychic skillz are telling me that in a few years, the current Biggest Loser coaches will develop pretty bad drinking problems and become addicted to Four Loko, the very classy alcoholic beverage/dolphin tears/energy drink, or "drank" as the great Fergie would say. If you didn’t already know this, any energy alcohol mix is bad for you (surprising, I know) and can be represented by this equation:

Four Loko + Human Body = Dude WTF

Giving at least one piece of my body to someone feels like something everyone should do…with their own bodies that is. And if I’m going to give my kidneys to anyone, then that person or persons might as well be worthy of them.

Mountain Dew bottles
Mountain Dew isn’t alcoholic but I’m pretty sure it can still get you fucked up.

YES, people, as you can tell, I have a lot of things. But like everyone, I just want to give my things peace of mind. And yes, it can be difficult giving those prized possessions of yours away, but unless pharaoh burials come back in style (and they probably will) then we’re gonna have to deal with the fact that nobody wants to let all their shit just go to waste. This process doesn’t have to be all doom, gloom, and Heidi Klum, so stop stressing, sit back, chillax, and start choosing people to abuse all your sweet junk after you’re gone.

Here are a couple more things I’m giving away and the people I bequeath them to:

  • Jeremy Piven gets the blueprints for my flamethrower
  • Hood rats everywhere can battle it out for my tiny television
  • Africans are going to get all of my food…stamps
  • My friend can have my dog
  • My dog can have my friend
  • My family members get all of my money in the form of toilet paper

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