All's quiet on the western front.

Reporting live (for the time being) from the West Coast, apparently within striking distance of North Korean missiles.  Isn’t this fun?  Ben and Jerry’s 2 pints for $6, yes please.  If I’m gonna get burnt to a crisp or have my taste buds radiated off, I’m having Half-Baked TONIGHT.  BALLS TO THE WALL, Y’ALL.  THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN WE ELECT A MAN WHO ONLY UNDERSTANDS REALITY TV AND LOVES TO SAY “YOU’RE FIRED”.  REINCE PRIEBUS?  YOU’RE FIRED.  NUCLEAR MISSILES?  YOU’RE FIRED.  ISN’T THIS GREAT.  I’ll eat my communist ice cream and await my destiny.  At THE VERY LEAST we can be thankful we don’t have a lady president with email troubles.  Having a competent woman in power would obviously be MUCH WORSE than nuclear holocaust.  BenghaziemailsradicalIslamicterrorism, am I right?

Because this is a normal thing to do, I considered my last will and testament while walking home today.  Fortunately for all of us, I have Marie-Kondo-ed most of my shit in the last few months (thank you for your service), so nobody will have to dig through this stuff and feel bad about throwing it away:

It was important work.

But here go the crucial items:

If Minnie survives the nuclear blast, I entrust her to Trish.  Hugging Minnie for the last 26 years has contoured her perfectly to my body.  Trish and I have the same body.  Therefore, Trish gets Minnie and her wonderful hugs.  You’re welcome.  Treat her well.

My pearl earrings will go to Molly and my diamond earrings to Rose.

Give all my money to Kelsey Gleason.  Girl, have a killer wedding.  Or, elope and use my money for a down payment.

Will, you may keep my TV, wine, and coffee table.

In the event that my death is murder by an illegal immigrant, DO NOT, I repeat, DO NOT ALLOW MY DEATH TO BECOME AN OBSCENE TOOL OF THE REPUBLICAN PARTY. I’m pretty sure having my name repeated over and over by Paul Ryan and Rush Limbaugh and Sean Hannity will not allow me a good rest in peace.  I do not want any Claire’s Law unless it has something to do with forcing all grocery stores to function additionally as full service liquor stores EVERY SINGLE GODDAMN DAY. 

If I die in a freak accident or of some crazy disease, DO NOT, I repeat, DO NOT TURN MY FACEBOOK PAGE INTO A BIZARRO MEMORIAL WHERE YOU ALL WRITE NOTES TO ME.  GUESS WHAT.  I’LL BE DEAD.  I WON’T BE ABLE TO READ.  IF I HAVE SOME MAGICAL CONSCIOUSNESS IN THE AFTERLIFE, I WON’T HAVE TO LOG INTO FACEBOOK TO SEE HOW YOU’RE FEELING.  Instead, please direct your lovely thoughts and memories in notes to my parents.

As for the rest of my stuff, have at it, y’all.  Go crazy for that Ikea.  First dibs to sisters, cousins, and friends.  Now, I have some ice cream to attend to.  Please remember me as a lover of truth, humor, and peanut butter cups.   If I am granted more time on this fragile planet, I will be more attentive to this blog.  Godspeed.