will

2nd WILL AND TESTAMENT
I, Robert Nelson Rosenberger Jr. (also known as wrob shineyoung and occasionally poopiepants) being of sound body, do hereby bequeath the following loot into the stewardship of the following people.
I don't say "mind and body" because the mind is of the body, therefore if the body is sound, it follows the mind is too. We'll have no rylesque runarounds in this ol' document. Though i suppose we'll be able to keep functioning brains in talking jars before long, so to avoid legal hassle, i grudgingly testify that my mind is sound, too.
Chirp chirp.
And ownership is an illusion, so "stewardship" is appropriate.
My first will and testament is among my papers, a scrap with almost no detail. I amend that document, naming my parents co-executors of my estate, and stating my desire to have my financial assets divided equally among the members of my nuclear family and John Dailey (unless Jeff or John wish to spend their loot on drugs, in which case their portions go to a deserving nudist organization).
If there are any wrob-remains, freezing is dandy, as i'd LOVE to come back. Burial or burning are okay, under the following conditions. Burial, only if you personally inter my remains, away from the shameful pocket-filling of the burying bidness vultures. Burning, only if it's a proper pyre on a boat. But maybe space sounds nicest of all...release me into that vacuum, so i may dream about discovering whether the universe ends or nay. That would be a fitting marriage of death and infinity, the only two subjects that overloaded little wrob-brain, in life. If there is a ceremony to commemorate my bucket-kicking, i have two stipulations: no religion, and everyone naked. Am i joking? If you need ask, you don't know me. The Weber boys may gather around me to give me a collective "face". If someone slips in a butt rape (that's not what it sounds like, readers), be tolerant, as they never got me while i was alive. Everyone should bring a bucket, and gather in a ceremonial kicking circle. No one goes home with the bucket they came with.
Playfulness aside, no viewing please - NO FLUIDS, NO EMBALMING, NO RESTORATION. No cemetery or mausoleum. I've heard of something called an eco-friendly funeral (i hope it was real, it was how they buried nate in SIX FEET UNDER). If freezing or space ejection aren't available, that sounds fine.
My writings i put into the trust of my co-executors. The most up-to-date versions are on my hard drive, or the USB flash drive which is normally in my backpack, in an orange waterproof necklace. The only file that might be incomplete is the blog file.
My Star Trek and dvd collections go to john, except that first edition TNG novel he covets. On my deathbed, i'll be wiping my ass with that one.
My music collection and M*A*S*H stuff, go to dave.
My pete rose ball goes to bob.
My Orpheus and Red Curtain memorabilia go to amanda parke, and paul longua.
My harry chapin signed poetry book goes to charlie leeder.
My tom lehrer pre-record contract album goes to pat and john gaul.
My comics and marx brother dvds go to isaac.
My Monty Python stuff and edgar rice burroughs books go to aaron.
My Star Wars figures (i know, this is what you've all been waiting for...) are to be divided among dave, jeff, and john.
As for the rest and any details, you'll figure it out.
I loved you, you beautiful, silly bastards!

signed, this 29th day of July 2008
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