Final Will of the Damned

When I die at my cubicle desk in a few years, probably still chained to a computer monitor by a telephone headset (my guess is by a stress-related Chernobyl-sized heart attack), it will be my journal that they inevitably would retrieve from under my lifeless corpse.

There I would be: laying face down over my work epitaph and reeking of tuna fish salad.

I can hear my female co-worker snapping her gum while giving her statement regarding my untimely demise to the responding EMS attendant (and with just a hint of flirtation, I might add):

“…he was there negotiating a ‘Promise to Pay’ and eating a jelly donut, when he just collapsed facedown in that smut he writes all day”.

If this were ever to be the case, I would like to note that this is to be regarded as my last final wish: that my personal computer keyboard be immediately used to bludgeon each and every co-worker and manager in a mass corporate suicide ritual so that they can be buried along with me in order to continue working alongside me in the afterlife.

Hear that? You’re ALL coming with me!