This is my will. It is my will that I never die. Why the Hell should I die to leave my estate to a miserable bunch of (collective nouns) who never say thank you? Getting a thank you out of you is like getting blood from a (past participle) stone.
I may have spawned many bastards during a long and misspent life but so (past participle) what? Know thyself. Bastards and proud of it. By name and nature. My life? Fun while it lasted. Its not over till the fat lady sings, and she has lost her voice.
If you think I’m going to commit suicide you have another think coming. Why the (noun or verb) should I? Just to suit you? My bastard progeny. Take a (past participle) running jump at yourself or selves, you many-headed monster. Leviathan.
I may or may not decide to hold a pre-death funeral or wake for myself, all invited. My death that will never come, although much longed for. Like a jack-in-the-box I leap from my casket (coffin), laughing. I had you all fooled. You thought I was dead. Dead to the world in all its many manifestations.
This will of mine may bring tears to your eyes, I’m sorry to disappoint you. You miserable (four letter word, beginning with cee). Plural, add ess. I learned that word at school.
So, forget the flowers and crocodile tears. Thanks for nothing. The man who never made a mistake never made anything. Or indeed woman, afterthought. I met your like before. I know you only too well, bastards to a man and woman. So I quote, I have two words for you. And they sure as Hell aren’t come here.
Do I make myself clear? I’m not going to die. I am never going to (two words). So (two words). You may treat me as a senile corpse. I am well used to it. Thanks for nothing.
Thank you for attending the reading of my will, I am sorry to disappoint you. You go home empty handed. What did you expect? Expect nothing and you won’t be disappointed. Wise words. Your eyes are bigger than your belly. Oliver Twist asked for more. He was not alone. Less is more. Figure it out. You have a brain, use it.
I shan’t detain you a moment longer. Was your journey really necessary? Is that all there is? More or less. My grabbing, grasping relatives. We are all relatives, relatively speaking. I am fed up with you, up to here and then some.
If I appear to make no sense since when did you make any? Pot, kettle, black. All good things come to an end. I should know. Necessity is the mother of invention and the father of an awful lot of bastards. It takes one to know one.
I now sign off and (verb) off, if only temporarily. Normal service will be resumed as soon as possible.
Yours ever, whatever-you-call-him. Amanuensis.
25th January, 2017