Famous Last Words

Good evening, comrades. I write you on the brink of what will undeniably be my last few days among you on God’s green earth. For you see, starting tomorrow morning (Thursday, May 1st) I will begin a journey of sheer madness whose end result can only be my utter and complete demise. I’ll spare you the gruesome details, suffice it to say that the combination of starting my new job while still working my old job, plus the wide array of social activities and Mexican holidays on the horizon make for an almost omnipotent opponent. With that in mind, I thought it might be wise to put my last wishes into writing, so that way when you find my charred and disfigured remains (probably still clutching my iPhone) among the wreckage, you’ll know how I wanted things handled. And so we go.

The Last Will and Testament of Dustin Heveron:
I, Dustin Heveron, being of sound mind and body, heretofore bequeath my estate to be distributed among various parties of my choosing as outlined below.

To my beloved father and mother, Phil and Connie, I leave my secret, underground lair and adjoining launch pad. I’m not going to divulge its location or entrances, but if you can find it, the access code is 8675309…I was going through a big Tommy Tutone phase when I built it.

To my beloved father and bass-guitarist, Phil, I leave my bass. Not my bass guitar, but rather the six-foot, stuffed and shellacked fish I have hanging above my bed. His name is Danica, but he doesn’t need food anymore because he’s not alive. In addition to that, I also leave you my other bass. Again, not my bass guitar, but rather the plastic, singing novelty bass I have hanging in my shower so that I have thing to harmonize with when I’m singing in the shower or entertaining people…in the shower.

To my beloved mother, Connie, I leave all my laundry. And if you could have that done before the viewing, so I could be buried in my favorite t-shirt and jeans, that would be great. Don’t worry about the ironing though, I’m saving that for grandma and grandpa.

To my one and only beloved brother, Jared, I leave all my outstanding debts. These include (but are not limited to), the remaining payments on my 2007 Ford Focus SE, the remainder of my collegiate student loans, the balance due on the lease of my apartment and/or house, payments and past-due charges for my credit card(s), whatever money I owe to the bank in overdraft fees, and an undisclosed amount to someone I know in Vegas who will only refer to themselves as “Client X.” Mind you that you won’t actually take possession of any these things, you’ll just be responsible for paying them off in a timely manner. I figure you’ll be the best-equipped person to handle large-scale debt management in my stead, since you should be approximately seven-figures in the red by the time you read this.

To my beloved sister and youngest sibling, Alissa, I leave my entire wardrobe and clothing collection. This is actually not a bad deal since – due to my affinity for undersized and effeminate clothing – you will probably be able to fit into most everything I own and actually put my garments to their intended use.

To my beloved Nick Caruso, I leave my entire collection of alcohol; all my wines, liquors, regular and light beers, wine coolers, jello-shots, moonshine, 151, and that tank of homemade sludge from Davis Hall, spring ’04. But I’m not leaving you my stockpile of alcohol out of kindness, I’m leaving it as a final test. You see, I imagine by the time you read this, you’ll be somewhere between steps 5-8 of the 12-step program, and you’ll need something to convince you to loosen up a little bit and come back to the cool side of life. I figure leaving you my collection of approximately 47 FedEx-boxes of beer and enough liquor to open your own drive-through shop ought to do the trick.

To my beloved Jason Kientz, I leave my half of the intellectual property rights to the entire catalogue of our music. This includes (but is not limited to) The Paige Davis Song, The Isaac Mann Song, The Olsen Twins Song, and any others we have written or will write between now and my passing. I also leave my half of the copyrights to our band names: Common Identity, Second Best, The Dustin and Jason Laugh-Riot Polka-Orchestra and Kazoo Ensemble, and The Duet To-It. I also leave the total amount of my half of all our music-related earnings, a sum totaling approximately 12.5 cents.

To my beloved former roommates at Quail Hollow Drive, I leave the various assortment of smells, stains and bodily fluids that accumulated in and around the house while I lived there. Even the ones I blamed on Gatsby the dog. I also leave each of you one string of my acoustic guitar, so that in order to play it effectively, all of you have to be awkwardly huddled around it as one giant mass of fingers, hands, and arms. To Phil I leave the A and G strings, to Matt I leave the low-E and high-E strings, and to Joe I leave the B and D strings (note: Joe does not get an extra string for songs that are played in drop-D, that string remains Matt’s, regardless of tuning).

To my beloved UALC youth and staff I leave my entire collection of made-up games and wacky, church-appropriate catch phrases. These include games such as Dustin-ball, Ultimate Dustin-ball, Extreme Dustin-ball, Dustin-trivia, Dustin-frisbee, Dustin-relay, Dustin Dress-up Relay, Dustin-challenge, Dustin-tag, Dustin-Capture the Flag, and Blind Herpes Mormon Hunt.

To my beloved, loving (and probably really really hot) wife, , I leave my whole, entire heart. Not metaphorically, but literally. I have left instructions with the coroner to remove my heart, place it in a large jar of formaldehyde, let it set, then mount it on some kind of plaque or bowling trophy. I figure you can keep it on the mantle, above the fireplace, so that you can make some jokes about how my love still burns for you or something. That’ll be doubly funny if one of the kids accidentally knocks my heart into the fire when they’re cleaning.

Finally, to my beloved children, I leave my superior genetic makeup, and my social networking profiles on facebook, myspace, blogger.com, and any others that I’ve forgotten about or haven’t signed up for yet. If you could, try and change the profile pictures every few weeks or so, preferably to something really awesome, like me holding a beer or a guitar or a woman (or all three, to really show what a baller I was). Also, you should probably update the “About Me” section to something befitting my current state like, “Dead.” Or, “The least deceased in the East.” You know, to show that I’m still kicking ass and taking names, even though I’m not alive anymore. And it could kind of be a double joke if the Eastern Conference of the NBA is still pretty weak, because it would be like even a dead guy has a better shot at winning a championship then some of the Eastern Conference teams. I don’t know, just go with whatever seems funniest after I’ve died a horrible, premature death. People love to laugh.



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