My death. Sounds sad, melancholy but also, strangely erotic. I know some people prefer the word 'passing' or 'passed' as a euphemism for death, but I don't. It sounds like I died and was farted into oblivion. I can just hear some old biddy saying, "he's passed from this Earth." When I'm dead, please feel free to use 'dead' or even 'kicked the bucket. Or better yet, you can use 'bought the big one' to honor my life as a Size Queen.
Also, I have to do this in case my boyfriend and my mother have a fight about what to do with my heavily muscled cadaver. She's a traditionalist. She believes that I should be laid in state, in a frilly coffin with heavy make-up. I absolute forbid any make-up on my person, unless manufactured by Christian Dior. Also, it must be completely and utterly hypo-allergenic, as my dead skin will break out. Please also consult my color chart as I am an Autumn.
Now, how do I sign this to make it legal and binding? I can't use a pen--writing on my screen will ruin my internet porn-viewing activities. Okokok, here's what I'll do: I'll use a word that I don't normally use in conversation and I'll designate that word to be my signature. The word I choose is 'tittyfuck'. Henceforth, when you see this word on this site, it is my de facto signature, ok?
So here goes:
I, Paul a.k.a. "No Milk," solemnly swear on my stack of Honcho magazines, that this is my Last Will and Testament.
Please do not procure a coffin or plot or funeral services other than that to cremate my heavily muscled body. I do not want to waste any money on such frivolous activities to mourn my passing. Please cremate my remains. However, do not call the leftovers as "cremains." I don't think it makes it more palatable, just like "craisins" doesn't make dried cranberries less icky.
If a memorial is to be held, please gather in some suitable karaoke bar and sing my favorite lesbian songs. Rob! has free rein to sing any song a la Fred Schneider of The B-52's. Somebody will have to do a Michael McDonald impression, since I will not be present to do On My Own (duet with Patti LaBelle). If possible, I'd like Annie to play a cover of a Chris Mills song on her guitar. Annie, start practicing now. By the time I'm dead, you should be able to manage it.
As to the disposal of my ashes, please spread them in some location that is appropriate to my memory, like the Belmont Harbor, Wrigley Field, or the alley behind the Lucky Horseshoe where I got my first blowjob. Please save a small amount to be kept in safe place until such time that it can be thrown into Ann Coulter's face, hopefully in her next book signing.
Financial arrangements will be handled in a separate document, but please transfer all my substantial credit card debt to Elisabeth Hasselbeck. I want her to remember me every time she opens her mouth on The View.
I hope you all will remember me when I am gone as the cultured, funny, wise and good looking friend who loved you. And if you can't do that, just super-impose George Clooney's face on your memory of me.
I love you all,