When I die, I’m going to leave a lot of tools behind, and I’m worried that you’re going to use them inappropriately and hurt yourself. Despite their colorful outer shells that draw you in for a closer look and beckon you to plug them in and give them a whirl, they aren’t toys. Several of them can easily cut off a limb, put out an eye, or burn you badly.
My guess is that this won’t dissuade my friends from engaging in a melee after my untimely demise. The tear-streaked faces of my wife and kids, still shocked that I’m no longer here on earth and pretty certain I’m not anywhere else either, watch in disbelief as you guys come waltzing into my basement with a twelve pack and start grabbing at my chop saw.
Then, during calling hours, a line forms leading up to the casket, where I can be found laid out with a weird smile on my face, thanks to the misguided work of a new, young undertaker. You utter a few polite remarks to my family and hope to move on, but find that the greeting line is backed up thanks to an octogenarian who has knelt to pray over my dead body and then can’t get back up onto his feet. It’s awkward to be standing there and not saying anything more than “He was a great guy. Really, great guy.” So eventually you blurt, “So, uh, how many battery packs does his impact driver have?”
My personal opinion is that the family should just put everything out on the sidewalk and see who takes what. Bar clamps, pipe clamps, drills, levels, hammers, wrenches, torches, anything that wasn’t put into my personal pyramid in case I need it for the afterlife is sitting out there for the taking.
Of course, no duct tape will be left for the taking, as that is going to be part of my afterlife “tool kit.” But don’t worry – they carry it at most hardware stores.
Another thing that happens in my BBC radio play contest entry, soon to be written (due date 1/31/2020!), is that the border guards at US-Canada crossings are full of misinformation. “Each adult is allowed to bring two children, half a pound of cheese, and a loaf of black bread across the border.” There’s no truth to this, but we comply, since most of us couples don’t have more than four children total. (But imagine if we did!).
Other border guards get it into their heads that you aren’t allowed to enter if you’re not bringing with you, per adult, two children, half a pound of cheese, and a loaf of black bread, which gets everyone very confused. There’s this major snafu in which people are barred from entering the US from Canada without these items. Many have exactly two children and half a pound of cheese, but fail on the black bread. They get hollered at by the border guards: “This is pumpernickel!”
And there’s more.
When I use my status as an influencer to get my kids into a slot at a prestigious institute of higher education, I’m going to make sure they are treated just like everyone else in their class. I don’t want to find out that my kids are getting Eggs Benedict for breakfast before Math 1A while the rest of the students are getting Rice Krispies. My kids shouldn’t get special treatment just because I’m a famous blogger. I want everyone to get Eggs Benedict. And to achieve this I plan to make special donations to my kids’ colleges to establish “Eggs Benedict for Everyone.”
Of course, I know how colleges love to peel off large chunks of philanthropic gifts for “administrative costs” and will be very specific about the terms of my donations. Only Bays Original English Muffins may be served, not Thomas’. And certainly no bagels. If I find out that traditional bacon is used instead of Canadian Bacon, well, I’m going to demand that my donation be returned.
You must be wondering whether I’m going to donate a draw-down gift that will be gone by the time my kids graduate, or instead endow The Patrick McVay Fund for Eggs Benedict, thereby enabling Eggs Benedict to be served in perpetuity. I must admit I’m leaning toward the latter, so that long after I’m dead and gone my name would still be synonymous with the cholesterol-infused sandwich. Students the world over would wonder why they have to pay so much for room and board and yet can’t have Eggs Benedict like they do at my kids’ high-end universities, and the administration at these second-rate institutions would be forced to admit that they have no fund for Eggs Benedict.
Of course, if there comes a time when it is impractical to continue to serve eggs benedict because Canadians are no longer making their famous bacon, the terms of my endowment will allow the University President to use the funds to serve an egg dish that is in keeping with the spirit of my donation.
Need to start getting ads on this site so I can generate income for my donation.
What ever became of that addition to my estate, which I had loudly and boisterously claimed I was going to have constructed to increase the size of my house by about a quarter, and make room for a regulation-size snooker table?
Thanks very much for asking. It’s done!
OK, not exactly. We don’t actually have a finished floor yet, or paint, electrical outlets that work, or light fixtures. And I did not succeed in my quest to have fainting couches installed in each room (I’m very prone to fainting, or at least needing a nap). The rest of my family seems to think fainting couches are a frivolous waste of our hard-earned dollars (!!).
What’s more incredible than no fainting couches in a manor as stately and graciously appointed as mine is that no one can figure out where to put the TV.
I know what you’re thinking: “Put it in the TV room.” What, are you nearly 55 years old or something? Do you think this is 1975 and your parents are putting on an addition? Back then people carved out space for their televisions and called them “tv rooms,” but nowadays they call them “home theaters.”
But, yeah, we forgot to include one of those as well.
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