Sorry about the gloom and doom.
I know I wrote about my dog's passing yesterday and today I'm broaching the subject of my last will and testament. But until I work my way out of this funk, that's just the way it has to be.
Two months ago, my wife and I visited the lawyer's office to discuss the will. We already had one -- it cost a fortune to prepare -- but it was time to make some revisions and updates.
Turns out one of the organizations we had originally designated to receive a significant donation was no longer worthy of our good will. Apparently the CEO has been siphoning off money and chartering private jets to Antigua.
I didn't slave over meaningless brand engagement units and two-fold, four-color FSI's just to fund some fat slob and his hammock-humping secretary.
Moreover, the family has expanded in some areas and suffered losses in others. And my daughters are no longer 7 and 9 years old. All these things come into consideration.
As well as my demand that everybody just start being very fucking nice to me.
On top of all that there's the small matter of geopolitics. At this writing (Saturday morning) only one MOAB has been detonated in Afghanistan and no nukes have been fired towards the DPRK. But as we know from our fobbing, beetle-headed flap dragon Precedent, all that can change in a second.
Or with the next serving of chocolate cake.
And so with the apocalypse looming, I'm tempted not to leave as much as I had intended to have left.
There's the cabin on a lake in Maine I've been eyeing.
The restored 66 Dodge Coronet selling on Craig's list.
Or the 1387 acre horse ranch in Northern Idaho. I know nothing of horses. And never stepped foot in Idaho. But I do like the idea of 1387 acres between me and my nearest white trash neighbor.
I'm thinking of emptying out the 401K. And throwing caution to the wind. Binging in a way a thrift-minded Half Scottish/Half Jewish man has never binged before.
Maybe I'll start slow with some of that Market Priced Lobster. I've never ordered that off the menu before.
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