In the Event I disappear in the Bermuda Triangle...

I’ll be on vacation next week, so you’ll have to get your weekly dose of juvenile humor, spiritual insight or political analysis somewhere else.


Surely there’s no shortage of internet writers who try to fit all of that under one banner, right? See, you probably won’t even notice I’m gone.

As for me, I’ll be on a cruise deep into the Bermuda Triangle, searching madly for a portal into another dimension. If I find it, I’ll tell you all about it when I get back. Assuming I don’t decide I like it better in Dimension X and decide to stay. (After all, there are probably no cicadas there).

In the event of my untimely demise while vacationing in Bermuda, my wife and I would like to put our affairs in order as follows:

The 23rd person to read this blog entry shall have custody over our cat, Sebastian. He is extraordinarily fluffy, so you also get the vacuum cleaner, as well as our remaining half a roll of paper towels, and floor cleaner to take care of those nasty hairballs he spits up. This might seem more like a punishment than a reward, but this blog was posted at the conclusion of lunch time, and that’s what you get for surfing the internet at work.

Our house shall be sold to the highest bidder, with the proceeds going to establish a charitable trust dedicated to ensuring recalcitrant neighbors clean their pools, to prevent the noisy intrusion of unwanted frogs into one’s neighborhood. I once thought this was an aggravation unique to me, but if one Googles “how to kill frogs” and “frog poison” there are literally thousands of search results addressing this problem, though none provide any answers that actually work. Trust me. Perhaps the charitable foundation can help.

My car I leave to our other cat, Trouble, in the hopes that she can learn to drive it and achieve stardom above and beyond that of Driving Cat Pioneer “Toonces,” who left us far too early, due to an unfortunate collision.

My other remaining possessions are dilapidated, disorganized and covered in cat vomit, and had very little value even before all of that. Thus, I leave them to that attorney who pissed me off last week, just to make him go through the hassle of sorting through them. Hopefully, while he’s going through my bookcase he’ll read through my diary and see what I really think of him.

In the event I am able to venture to Bermuda and back without mysteriously disappearing, being abducted by aliens or otherwise being transported outside of space and time as we know it, I hereby renounce all the above transactions.

Except that I still want that lawyer to know what I really think of him.

And come to think of it, Reader #23 can still have our cat.