To be read at my Funeral/ Wake/ Memorial Service/ Execution

Is it just me, or are tombstones the most metal way to celebrate someone’s death?

To my Friends/ Loved ones/ Coworkers/ Esteemed enemies/ Fellow inmates/ my douchebag of a brother, as I hope you have realized, I am currently dead. That’s why my corpse is somewhere in this room and this Friend/ family member/ coworker/ prison guard/ random filthy hobo [being payed for reading this with booze] is reading this to you all. [note to the reader: do not read what’s in the brackets. Those are notes specifically for you. However, you must read everything else in this letter. Every word. I want to let you know that my spirit is in this room, watching you and making sure you do this right. If you don’t, I’ll haunt the shit out of you.]

By now, it should have become abundantly clear that I have failed at my attempt at immortality. To the families of the people whose souls I tried to steal: My bad. I totally thought that would work. If you are expecting any kind of repercussion for me, I would like to point out that I’m dead, and that I had successfully avoided such repercussions. So, in your face, grieving families.[do the Jersey Shore Fist pump here. DO IT! I swear to God that if you don’t do the fist pump, I’ll be the most annoying ghost to ever haunt you.]

I know that you must be going through a hard time with all of this. The weight of the pure sorrow and despair in your hearts must make every heartbeat an unbearable sting. You’re currently standing at the edge of a precipice in time; everything behind you is bright and filled with happy memories of me, like that time you caught me trying to suck the soul out of a person with a vacuum cleaner hose. Yet, everything ahead of you in your life is a swirling vortex of crushing depression, simultaneously making you feel like your heart could explode and collapse in upon itself at any moment. And all these feelings come from the fact that I am no longer around to give you laughs/ unwavering loyalty/ amazing, totally true stories (I swear I released the Kraken!)/ an enemy to fight against/ someone to lead prison riots/ someone to go to Slayer concerts with you because your friends hate you. But you must fight on! Just because I’m gone, it doesn’t mean you have to put a hold on your currently obsolete lives! You need to fight! You need to be strong! You… probably need to clone me. I’m not going to bullshit you; I cannot imagine what life will be like without me there, because I was your whole world, so I can only assume that all of you will probably commit suicide out of sheer boredom. So, yeah. Clone me. You have my body (or what’s left of it) right here. Just take a chunk of my ear, or maybe a patch of my skin, ship it off to some crazy Euro-science wizard place like Hogwarts or CERN and bake yourselves up a fresh clone of me. Hell, make multiple clones of me. That way each of you can have your own private Minigan Blackwood to make memories with. This is an awesome idea. Do it. [Note to reader: Granted, if my clones should ever meet, there is no way we wouldn’t team up to take over the world, but don’t tell them that. For real, speak none of what I just wrote here. If you do, I will leave ghost-poops in your bed.]

You know you want this to happen for real.

On the off chance none of you want dozens of Minigans scampering about like long haired, chocolate and booze fueled gremlins, then I hope that all of you find a way to fill the void that I left in your hearts by selfishly dying and not taking any of you with me. And please, do not harbor any hard feelings towards the dozens of innocent/ probably evil people I took with me. They will spend eternity in either Heaven or Hell without me, as I fully plan on staying here on Earth, haunting the person reading this if he/she doesn’t read exactly what I’ve written down here. [Note to reader: Why did you even choose to read this. How did you not know where this was headed? Do you even know me?] If you want, I can visit all of you in your dreams, like Freddy Kruger, except less facial deformities and scarring and 100% more nude. All of you are welcome. Of course, there will be a fee for me to do this, so once I figure out how transactions between the living and the dead work [Note to reader: virgin sacrifice maybe?] I will start up the dream invading.
But in all honesty, the dream invading sounds pretty dumb, right? Doesn’t it make the cloning idea better? I personally think that is a more realistic option. I don’t even know if I’m able to hijack people’s dreams. I know that I can possess people [Note to Reader: Like I’ll do to you if you don’t read everything I tell you and if you read the things I tell you not to read. Like this.], but infiltrating dreams? I seriously doubt I can do that. That doesn’t mean that I won’t try to hijack people’s dreams, mind you, it just means that I don’t think it will be in my haunting wheelhouse. And let’s be honest here: it’s not likely that those clones will be totally like me. They will have to have some different personality traits. Afterall, it won’t have the same memories or sense of humor that I have. Trust me on this. I tried it and it was a complete fiasco. It was too busy calling me “demented and immoral” to realize how ferociously funny I am. That’s why I had to kill him. With this knife. [Note to Reader: show them the knife. You know which one.]
I know that sounds like a bit of a downer, the clone not being exactly like me, but trust me, it will work out better for you guys. First of all, cloning technology is much more efficient and easier now (whenever this is) than when I originally cloned myself in 2010. Also, I’ve been sending copies of my brain waves that map memories and personality traits to CERN so that the scientists can create a more accurate clone of me. They aren’t perfect, of course, but they are certainly close enough for my standards. [Note to Reader: Certainly close enough for me to possess them and have a new soul host.] So wipe away your tears! Leave this church/ cemetery/ morgue/ prison and leave the lump of meat that was once me behind you! For once you send in a piece of my DNA (along with a $30,000 cloning fee) I will be with you again. And this time I’ll never leave you, because this time I will have unlocked the secret of immortality. Be joyous because my second coming is close at hand! [Note to reader: You’ll want to make sure that they do go ahead and make a clone of me. If you don’t, I’ll possess your body instead. Get on that.]

What are you all waiting for? Cut off pieces of my flesh and mail them to CERN.

Also, Peace.

Minigan Douglas Blackwood: Currently Deceased Doctor of Awesome


Minigan Blackwood’s Official Bucket List

We all know that I’m not going to live forever. And if you have any sense at all, you will hope that this is true. But I have some serious things I need to get done before I start posting in that great blog in the sky. So here’s my bucket list. I’m rather proud of it, and I think that these things on my list give a pretty clear idea of how the next four decades of my life will be pretty damn awesome.

Spit in John Stamos’s mouth
-I don’t really have anything against John Stamos, mostly because I only have something against celebrities who are relevant in today’s culture. Boom! Take that Stamos!

Eat all the yogurt you want, but we’ll never forget you wearing that pink tank top while playing the drums for the Beach Boys.

The reason I want to spit in John Stamos’s mouth is not because of anything he did, is doing, or will do in the future. No, why I want to spit in his mouth is actually much more benign than that. I simply want to spit in his mouth so that I will have an amazing story for the rest of my life. Think about it. How great would it be if you could gather up your grandchildren, all wide eyed and sticky from the popsicles you gave them so that they’d shut the fuck up for five minutes, and tell them the story of how you spit in the mouth of Uncle Jessie from Full House. They would then tell you how they don’t know who Uncle Jessie is and you would call them all ungrateful bastards with no knowledge of the classics. Gosh, do I long for that conversation.
Jump off a mountain using a flight suit
This sounds insane, because trust me, it is, but it’s so crazy that it’s even crazier for me to never want to try it. Seriously watch this video and try to tell me that I wouldn’t want to do this:

On a unrelated note, the title of that video is pretty dirty.
Grave rob Thomas Edison’s grave
-Because fuck Thomas Edison. He totally screwed Nikola Tesla over, and took all the credit for the lightbulb and the moving picture. Plus, I think there has to be some pretty awesome shit with that opportunistic dick’s corpse. And how cool would it be to show people the mug you’ve made out of Thomas Edison’s skull? The answer is “So goddamn cool.” Though, “not so much cool as it is horrifying,” would have also been acceptable.
Visit every continent
-I’ve been to 2 so far, but this is my third decade alive, so I’m a little behind. But I also feel that I’m heading into a serious travel kick over the next couple of years. Afterall, I went to Europe twice within three years, and that second trip was for a month. Hopefully I still have a few more continents to visit while I’m still in my twenties. I would especially like to make it to Machu Picchu and to Antarctica before I turn 30. Although, visiting Egypt, Russia, and Japan would also be pretty awesome. In case you’re wondering, I do have a reason for wanting to visit every continent. I want to visit every continent because 1. I’m writing a book series and several important settings take place on each of the continents and I would like to visit each of the settings, and 2. Visiting every continent has the ultimate bragging rights built in. But that first point brings me to…
Get my books published
-This one is pretty straightforward and expected, but it is something that I want to do before I die, so it’s also on the list.
Help design and build my house (complete with secret passageways and hidden rooms)

Hopefully I won’t be murdered and the guests at my party have to go around accusing each other until they figure it out. Seriously, just call the goddamn cops.

-I mentioned this house (Which I’ve preemptively named The Blackwood Manor) in my will a couple of months ago, so of course I actually need to design and build it. I really have been wanting this house in some form or another all my life, but instead of growing out of it like most normal people, my strong desire for a house with secret passage ways has only grown. I shit thee not, I’ve drawn like, 5 drafts of this house up, and each one had a two story ball pit. Before you judge me, I’ll have you know that to escape from the pit, you’d have to reach the trapdoor at the bottom of the pit, open it, climb the set of stairs on the other side, and slide down the slide. If that doesn’t sound like the greatest thing ever, then you are the avatar for soul sucking sadness.
Pet a wolf
-For those of you who do not know, my favorite animal is the wolf. They survive in close knit groups, they hunt in packs, and they are the ultimate symbol of loyalty. Hell, I tattoo of a wolf on my back:

Yes it does have a lightning bolt going down its back because why the hell not?

So if I have such a love for wolves, why would I want to pet a wolf? Aren’t the only wolves that would let a human pet them the ones that have been raised in captivity. Well, yes. But those are not the wolves that I want to pet. I want to pet a for real, wild, Yellowstone wolf. I fully believe that the wolf is my spirit animal, and I’ve wanted to have a moment with a wolf since I was a little kid. I actually mentioned this last year. Anyway, I want it to be a wild wolf because that will make the moment just that much more powerful.
Set fire to the Rocky Statue in Philadelphia


-Because why the fuck not? I’m not going to challenge the man to a fight; I’m just want to desecrate his image in a public setting so that he can see what I really think about him. Well, it isn’t really about how I feel about him, as it is about how I feel about smug statues. So setting the Rocky statue on fire is really just a warning to other statues. What now, Thinking Man statue? If I’m willing to set Rocky on fire, what the fuck do you think I’m going to do to you? And that goes double for you, Lincoln, you giant white bastard.

And don’t get me started on the fucking faces of Mount Rushmore.

Have a monument built in my honor
-I know this may sound like it’s a little hypocritical compared to my last entry, and that’s because it totally is. But let’s just not think about that anymore, ok? I’ve always wanted a statue built in my honor, and I’ve always wanted it to display my accomplishments. Therefore, the statue of me will be totally naked, with one hand holding a quill, and the other holding a bolt of lightning. At my feet will be a wolf (my spirit animal…have you not been reading this bucket list?) as well as a very attractive and large breasted woman looking up at me seductively.
Build a fully functioning greenhouse so that I never have to buy vegetables ever again
-I’m just pretty tired of buying fresh vegetables. It’s bullshit, it’s expensive, and I have to wash everything. I seriously think a greenhouse and a year round garden would be the best thing for me. Then I can grow my own produce, and not have to worry what chemicals are on it or what bugs are in it. Plus, whatever produce I have extra of, I can sell. It would practically pay for itself! Plus, it would come in handy for my next item on the list…
Survive the apocalypse
-OK, so this one is a little fucked up because if I want to survive the apocalypse, that means I want the apocalypse to happen which also means that I indirectly want a bunch of people to die. No offence everybody, but I think I would totally rock at the apocalypse. Well, if the apocalypse was the zombie apocalypse. If Yellowstone exploded, then I’d probably be pretty fucked, just like everyone else. But if it’s the zombie apocalypse, then I would fucking dominate that shit. I’ve got the weapons, the zombie knowledge, the survival skills and the level of crazy to survive a zombie apocalypse. I really want my skills to be tested on this.
Eat chocolate covered strawberries for breakfast.

pictured: the perfect breakfast food

-I was talking to my friend, Chelci, on twitter, and she said that eating chocolate covered strawberries for breakfast would change my life. I’m pretty sure that she’s right and it would, so eating chocolate covered strawberries for breakfast is now on my bucket list. Thank you Chelci.
Never fucking die
-I think this one’s pretty self-explanatory, but for those of you who don’t understand why I would put “never fucking die” on my list of things to do before I die, let me explain. I don’t want to fucking die, and I especially don’t want to fucking die before I do everything else on this list. Until then, I don’t want to fucking die. And if I do die, I’ll haunt the shit out of all of you. Be warned.

The Last Will and Testiment of Minigan Douglas Blackwood

Listen, folks. I’m not going to be around forever. I know; this really sucks for you. But this is something that you will just have to accept. But to help you get through, I decided to let everyone know what they will be getting from my will when I die. Now, I don’t expect to die for some time, so I decided write my will in advance because I don’t want to deal with it later. And I don’t ever have any intention of editing this, so I’ll be making assumptions about my future. Good luck to you all.
The Last Will and Testiment of Minigan Douglas Blackwood
I, Lord Minigan Douglas Blackwood Esq., Doctor of Awesome, being of sound mind and body (“Sound Mind” being a relative phrase here), do bequeath the my worldly possessions to the following:
To my current wife, I am giving you the greatest gift I can give anyone: an eternity with me. You are to be euthanized, stuffed, and placed in my tomb. I have already picked out a taxidermist and the position you will forever be posed. You will be butt naked and posed like a roaring bear. And if for some crazy reason you don’t want to be stuffed and placed in my tomb, I have advised my butler, Geoffrey, to hit you with a tranquilizer dart. Get her now Geoffrey.
To Geoffrey I give you your reparations for the years of loyal service. Since you worked for me for the past thirty years without pay, the total should come to twelve hundred dollars. This will not be adjusted for inflation. Also, as my last gift to you, I shall return your family to you. Now that I am gone, I do not need leverage to keep you working for me. I thank you for all of your hard work and also for not poisoning me over all these years. (Note: If Geoffrey was responsible for my death in any way, I want his family killed by either suffocation with hot tar or heavy metal poisoning.

That’s close, but not exactly what I was talking about.

To my ex-wives Sheila, Bethany, Yau Kim, and Francesca, I leave each of you a house and a camera crew for your own reality TV program. Please note that I said one house and one camera crew. You will be sharing the house, and the show will be about you four living together and trying to get over the fact that I dumped your asses for one another. The house you will be living in is my mansion off the cost of Barcelona, Spain. You know, the one where I proposed to each one of you. You will also aquire the area around the house: the mile of beach, the golf course that I had built as part of my, “building golf courses” phase, and the small town there all the servants work. Also, I will have a wax replica of my current wife placed in each bedroom. I know how much you ladies loved her (spitting at someone is a term of endearment, right?), so I hope that this makes up for the fact that you’ll never see her again after today. If grief over comes you and you try to get rid of the statues, You’ll be thrown in the cobra pit that will be installed on site. I have signed a contract with VH1 (I tried Bravo, but none of my gay friends wanted to be secondary characters on a reality TV show), and have given them $500,000 for a 5 year run. You cannot back out of this, because you agreed to this when you signed the divorce papers (I snuck the clause in there at the last second), and if you back out, then you get taxidermied and stuffed into my tomb as well. But do not think that you will not get paid for being on the show! Everything will be paid for, from your food, to the utilities, to the topless wait staff, and you will receive $10,000 per episode. I don’t know if that’s good or not; I just pulled a number out of my ass. After the 5 years are up, and if you were entertaining enough to warrant a sixth season, it will be your choice to decide if you want to continue the show. If you, out of spite, try to force the show off the air, I have given permission to VH1 to find horrible things to do to you four in order to keep things interesting. The friendly folks at VH1 are pretty fucked up, so you might want to keep things interesting (They’re planning a sprinkler system that sprays out tarantulas).
To my Children: Journey, Salamander, Gatorade, Chlamydia, and Ω I leave you half of my remaining monetary estate, the Blackwood Estate (or as you know it, the mansion you grew up in), as well as any of the profits that come from my book sales. There is, however, a catch. You will be locked in the house and you will have to fight to the death. The winner will be named as my primary benefactor. Also, all of the illegitimate children I had over the years (upwards of 50) will also be locked in the house with you. Only one can be crowned the winner, and he/ she will be the smartest, bravest, and strongest of them all. This may sound familiar to you, and that’s because that is essentially the premise of The Hunger Games novels, which I made you read and watch the movies because I totally played Finnick Odair in the movies. Yes, I did rip off The Hunger Games for this, but it only seems fair seeing as though that was how I became rich and famous in the first place. If you were a clever child and discovered my secret passage ways around the estate, then you have a severe advantage over everyone else, but be warned: If you try to leave the estate through the escape passage, you will be shot dead. No child of mine will be a cheater. Also, you will not be allowed to use outside weapons. The only kind of killing device you will be permitted to use will be the ones you find around the estate. Luckily for one of you, the trident that I used in the movie will still be in the house, so who ever reaches it first will be able to use it. And be careful! I also have set up booby traps. I wish each of you good luck, and I hope that you use this notice to prepare yourselves for the oncoming battle and not to run and hide, because that will spell you imminent and painful demise.
To my dearest friend James T. Kohlberg, I would like to apologize for not actually knowing what your middle name is, so I just guessed with the T. I like to think that it stands for Tiberius. Anyway, I want to thank you for coming out of your shack in the woods to be at my funeral and will reading. If I were alive, I’d hug you. Anyway, to you I give every single one of my expansive weapon collection. Everything from the aforementioned trident, to my lightning sword, to the machete you gave me, to my zombie club. However, you cannot have any of these until after all of my children have fought to the death. Once the winner has been named, the weapons will be collected and given to you. Please note that I would give you a significant portion of my monetary estate, however, due to your recent voluntary exile from society, that money would be useless to you. Instead, I am giving you a 200 acre patch of wilderness that will be entirely yours to hunt, fish, trap as you see fit. This will be a fenced in area, and no one will be permitted access. If, by chance, a person does break into your woods, then you can decide the punishment for said trespasser. That means that if you want to make said woman/ man/ child your wife, you are well within your rights to do so. You’re welcome.
I would like my third home: my castle in Germany, to be a museum dedicated to me. All of my important artifacts (or replicas of some, like my trident) will be housed there. As for the rest of my houses and belongings, it may be divided amongst my family and friends. I would like $10,000 to be saved from my estate, along with what belongings of mine that nobody claims. Of the $10,000, half of it should be spent on food. Then all of it should be placed in a large pile in some lower class neighborhood and set on fire. I want this done so that the poor hilariously try to salvage some of the burning things that they so desperately need. That should teach them a lesson about messing with the rich.
And that is my Last Will and testament. I don’t know how these end, so I’ll end it with a song lyric that seems fitting:

“Everybody stops and they staring at me
I got passion in my pants and I ain’t afraid to show it, show it, show it, show it

I’m sexy and I know it”-LMFAO

True poets

Peace (for me)

Obituary of Sadie Moser

Sadie Moser was born on April 1, 1994 in Humber Pennsylvania and passed on Friday, June 10, 2011 at 12:55 PM. She was a two time divorcee: Once to a teddy bear and once to a neighborhood dog. She was the loyal pet and failed watchdog of the Moser family. She spent her years working happily at keeping the yard free of unwanted critters. She was preceded in death by the four Parakeets, Jack, Johnny, Sky, and Lime,  Toonses the cat, the unnamed duckling, Miguel the rabbit, 2 mice, several hamsters and frogs, and at least 2 dozen gerbils. She was survived by Randy, Susan,  Justin, Becky, Doug, and Amy Moser, as well as her cousins Zero, Leela, Carlos, and Jamie . She also survived by the neighbors of  Susan, Doug, and Amy Moser, who would routinely brought Sadie back to the Moser house whenever she would wander away. Sadie will be cremated and her remains will stay with the family, attending the normal family events like Christmas and Thanksgiving until someone (probably Doug) accidentally knocks over the urn and they have vacuum her up. The Moser family would like for Sadie to know that she was the perfect dog for them, that she’ll be dearly missed, and that the Moser household will never feel or smell the same again.

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