Logic’s Will and Testament
- Where I Got Swine Flu From :( Jager...
Hey all. If it wasn’t brought to your attention, I have been on a blogging hiatus because I’m studying for my LSAT on December 6th. I guess God was smiting me because I contracted Swine Flu. My friends say it’s because I’m a pig. I say it’s because I had sex with your mother. BOOSH! Some say this is karma. Me? Well, I totally agree. Even though dystonia-girl was just looking for attention and is a big fat faker[edit:Not a faker, her symptoms were mostly mental] who turned out to have a speedy recovery. Well lah-dee-dah, your highness. Do cheerleaders just get everything? Grrr.
Well, as we all know swine flu is very serious and I’ve put a lot of thought into it. So here is my last will and testament:
I never was a rich man, basically because I have a slew of terrible habits. What little money I do have though, will go to who ever tracks down Maddox (the self proclaimed famous blogger) and kick him right in his self-serving balls. This guy is funny, sure, but his act is kind of tired and his book sucked. Know what else? He didn’t respond to my email. And I’m not just some kid whining he didn’t meet Maddox. Nope. He called out Swine Flu on his blog, and I was going to sneeze in his face and spit in his ginger ale as he requested.
To Berstreet: I’ve shaved my head and bagged the hair. Now you have costume material for years to come. You’re welcome.
To Tom Coughlin: I leave you my 16 inch retractable knight-stick. After knowing you did not go home and beat your son-in-law or your own blood who married him, I’m sending this for every Giants fan. Either you start laying down the law or I’ll fucking haunt the Meadowlands. Don’t mess with me. I’ll have NOTHING better to do. Hell, you can even use this to hit your wife. I don’t care. Just get mean again. Or I’ll have Deacon from King of Queens check your prostate with the GD thing.
To My Parents: Since I’ve prearranged my passing, I’ve deleted all the pornography from my lap top so you can strip it dry of all my writing and give it to a publisher. I’m sure they’ll either make advances on sociopath studies or at least a decent dick-joke sitcom.
To my Dog Rudy (pictured below):
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