Monday, January 22, 2007

Cherish My Memory

Dearest Readers,

It is my solemn duty to inform you that my death is imminent. One day last week, I awoke and found that I had pronounced facial swelling and a high fever. At first, I thought I was coming down with the flu, but when I looked in the mirror I saw otherwise. A small scratch had evolved into a sizable head wound and both eyes were swollen nearly shut. I hadn't seen my body react to anything like that since the Dirty Needle Dodgeball Incident of '98. Thus, I proceeded directly to the closest ER at high speed. Upon arrival, they determined that I had a staph infection. I'll spare you the details of how these things are dealt with, but let it suffice to say that it was only somewhat more pleasant than a Gerbilectomy. I found the following article in an AP article on Yahoo! later in the week:

WASHINGTON (Reuters) - A nasty staph germ circulating in and out of hospitals produces a poison that can kill pneumonia patients within 72 hours, researchers said on Thursday...

Although I don't actually have the pneumonia part and the wound appears to be healing, I know that God won't resist such an opportunity. Thus, I have compiled my Last Will and Testament:

To Common Wombat: I leave my most trusted household contrivance - my commode. Rest assured that this is one of the finest pieces of machinery that I've ever known. It has carried me through many dark and troubled times. I feel that this bequest is analogous to placing a Stradivarius in the hands a virtuoso. I have no doubt that you will be able to use it to.....Wait, I really don't want to know what you're going to do with it. Really.


To Karla: I bequeath my antibiotic collection. Since most medical journals refer to your nether regions as the "viral Disneyland," I'm certain that they will come in handy. Moreover, I've included my Pez penicillin dispenser, so that you can discretely consume the massive volumes that it takes to get you through your busy day.

To Dyckerson: I leave you my most precious possession: my crotch. If it brings you with half of the pleasure that it has brought me, you will die a satiated man. With all of the perks and privileges that come with this gift, please don't forget the responsibilities. Speaking of which, if any attorneys contact you about a small herd of illegitimate Haitian children, pretend that you don't speak English. Also, please continue my regimen of loving care. Remember to Turtle Wax it every Wednesday, but no matter how much it begs, do not feed it from the dinner table.



To Kalleigh Hathaway: To you, I leave my job. In life, I didn't have much use for it and I doubt that death will improve upon that. The fact that you have no formal training as an electrical engineer shouldn't impede your success and eventual advancement. Merely use industry jargon like "volts", "amps", and "zappy-thing" often and nobody will be the wiser. Trust me, I've been doing it for years. Additionally, since there is a scant number of attractive women in engineering, you can most likely set fire to the building hourly with no fear of repercussion.

To ACW: I leave you my laxative stockpile. With your known propensity for consuming inedible substances, such as candle wax and soap, I'm sure that you can put them to good use. I was also going to give you the Dongstar, but I fear that you would inevitably find a way to ingest that, too.



To Standing Cheese: Although I haven't agreed with some of your posts, particularly with respect to blogger etiquette, I enjoy your blog nonetheless. You don't care who you offend or how how many "precious" comments an offensive opinion might cost you and you've got to respect that. Thus, I bequeath you my favorite monogrammed T-shirt. Wear it with pride, I certainly did.


To Geisha: I leave my Hewlett Packard 6234A DC Power Supply. This apparatus is capable of delivering 250 milliamps of direct current at 24 volts, which equates to 6000 milliwatts of hoo-haa blasting goodness. Compared to the meager 9 volts provided by your beloved Mr. Battery, this gift is 2.67 times more potent and will never die at an inopportune moment.

To Malnurtured Snay: I leave you my Lego collection and all of my first edition, autographed Battlestar Gallactica DVDs.

OK, maybe I don't really have any of that stuff, but if I did and was actually dying (honestly, I plan to live forever), they would be yours.

To Cham Green: It is difficult to express the depth of my disappointment of not being able to fulfill my childhood dream of making sweet, sweet, Monkeylove to you on the pitcher's mound of Camden Yards on Opening Day. As a mechanism of consolation, I leave you my Winnie the Pooh sheets. Please honor my memory by using them whenever you're entertaining your teeming Hispanic he-harem.


Sadly, I must close in order to prepare my Final Arrangements. I've requested cremation and that the subsequent ashes be used as cut in a kilo of pure cocaine that is to be distributed in selected day care centers to commemorate TFG Day. In lieu of flowers, please send copious donations, in one dollar bills, to Our Lady of the Happy Ending, 7541 Pulaski Hwy, Baltimore, MD, 21237.

21 Comments:

At 9:51 AM, Blogger eebmore said...

I have bad news for us all. I had the MRSA a couple of years ago (I totally so much cooler than you because I had it before it was trendy), and I survived. So, unfortunately, your death is not imminent. But we can always dream.

p.s. My MRSA manifested itself on my ass. Yours manifested on your face. As always, a perfect match. Feel better, Baron Harkonnen.

 
At 10:11 AM, Blogger Kalleigh Hathaway said...

Aw, TFG, thank you for remembering me in your will! Although God help me if someone has to die before I can get a job.

Oh, God help you too. I hope you don't die. After all, first meetings are awkward enough without one person being in a coffin and all.

 
At 11:04 AM, Blogger Cham said...

Are those donations going to the Plaza Hotel or Total Plastics? Both quality locations that are on my route for different reasons entirely.

I'm sorry to hear about your untimely demise. I am hoping that you will allow me to use those sheets during a future trip to Nepal, or maybe after a waitstaff meeting at the Crop.

 
At 11:34 AM, Blogger anonymouscoworker said...

How come I get the laxatives and Snay gets all the good stuff? You could've at least thrown in the Dongstar. I wouldn't have tried to eat it all at once.

 
At 11:36 AM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

Even in death you're hilarious.

 
At 12:58 PM, Blogger Kira said...

I told you what would happen if you didn't wash your hands!!!!
(glad to see you are unbloated, or should i say de-bloated, or whatever, and your wound is healing!

 
At 1:47 PM, Blogger Mighty Dyckerson said...

Thanx for the crotch. I shall try it out on Ms. Babble after your funeral.

If the hearse is a-rockin', don't come a-knockin'!!!

 
At 6:03 PM, Blogger RevRee said...

you didn't leave me a goddamn thing.

 
At 6:56 PM, Blogger tfg said...

eebmore-Staph on your ass? It didn't mess up the Mother tattoo, did it?

kalleigh-Let me check my calendar and see if I can reschedule my death.

cham-I just made that address up, but the next time you call on TPI, show them this post and tell them you want your happy ending.

ACW-Actually, given the same choices, I'd have selected the laxatives.

anon-Thanks.

kira-I don't think handwashing was the culprit. A lack of coatwashing is probably more like it. I've done more laundry than the entire Guatamalan illegal alien population.

dyck-Why wait? Try it out during the funeral.

revree- I was going to leave you a fully constructed Sex Bomb, but I sent my Koran out for rebinding this week.

 
At 7:17 PM, Blogger Broadsheet said...

I guess MRSA hits us all in our most vulnerable regions. In your case - the face; eebmore's ass; and me? My boobs. Grew a third one over night and had emergency surgery leaving me with a chest tube and a major gunshot wound in my cleavage. The antibiotics put me into anaphylactic shock and back into the ER a full week later. Good Times.

And WHY did you not bequeath me the black dildo??? You can't take it with you my friend.

RIP

 
At 7:41 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

tfg, dude, i thought you were going to lay off licking stripper's asses.

 
At 8:36 PM, Blogger verity said...

Please do not encourage the sadists. My hoo-haa is thoroughly stressed out now.

 
At 8:58 PM, Blogger eebmore said...

The tattoo is fine, but that’s the last time I engage in ass-play with your mom.

Seriously though, EVERYONE is going to be blessed with that little bug within the next five years at some point. I got hit on the front line living near city jail from which lots of MRSprisoners are released and walk around infecting everything. Broad-sheet from her hospital. And you from “hanging out” in truck stop restrooms. So all of you reading this who have not yet been infected: you have something to look forward to. Enjoy.

 
At 9:51 PM, Anonymous Crunchy BC said...

Fine. Leave our sheets to some tramp. Just as long as she knows that she'll be getting *whimper* a little piece of me with them.

(I figured since you were dying, it would be OK to tell everyone).

 
At 5:41 AM, Blogger tfg said...

broadsheet-I never knew how common this is, until this week. I've been hearing horror stories from almost everyone that I know. Not that I usually worry about these things, but wouldn't regifting a sex toy be uber-bad taste.

anon-I never said that.

geisha-I didn't even mention the best part, it has dual outputs. In other words, its like two 24V Mr. Batteries.

eebmore-Jesus Christ, what is it with you? Just because I serviced that gaggle of truck drivers, once, I'm branded for life?

crunchy bc- She knows. Your leprosy is well documented.

 
At 7:19 AM, Blogger johnny dollar said...

too bad you're getting cremated - i wanted to pour a six-pack of natty boh over your grave...

(once i ran it through my bladder)

 
At 9:31 AM, Blogger Malnurtured Snay said...

Well, it's the thought that counts.

 
At 12:20 PM, Blogger eebmore said...

heh. That reminds me of a saying a friend of mine learned from his father: “You can build a thousand bridges and nobody will ever call you a bridge builder; but if you blow one guy you’re a cock sucker for the rest of your life.” The saying is meant to be applied to being branded professionally for one mistake that you can never live down, but I guess it applies to actual cock sucking as well.

 
At 1:40 PM, Blogger Luck o' the Irish said...

Gee and I thought maybe you had some kind of latex allergy.

 
At 1:15 AM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

Obviously you survived the "knock of the Reeper." Glad to hear it; myself and fellow colleagues enjoy your posts! Thanks for providing us a REAL reason for telling the Boss to come back later; WE'RE BUSY!

 
At 2:29 PM, Blogger karla said...

A bunch of antibiotics? Please; you insult me. My body long ago built up an immunity to nearly every kind of antibiotic, despite the best efforts of the free clinic near my home. Now I rely on cans of Raid and gallon-size bottles of bleach. But thanks for thinking of me. I'll take the Pez dispenser. Looks like a good place to hide coke.

 

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