Uh-oh! You've just found out that you're going to die! In one week!

Son of a bitch! And you have Slint tickets! Goddammit!

You eventually calm down. You realize that you've had a good run of it, and the doctors/warden tell you that death will be instantaneous and pain-free. But you need to wrap up your affairs. And one of your final items of business is drafting your epitaph.

You get a maximum of thirty words to sum up your time here on Earth, say goodbye or tell the world to screw itself. Here are two famous examples:

William Shakespeare: "...Curst be he that moves my bones."
W.C. Fields: "On the whole, I'd rather be in Philadelphia."

All right. It's your turn.

Go on and die!

"he was a very thin man."

or


"he sure could spin a yarn"



or some derevation thereof.

"I told you I was sick"

-I remember seeing that one somewhere

I would steal Bukowski's:

"Don't try."

I was born here and I died here
against my will

I choose the immortal words of Bob Seger:

You can have your funky world
See you 'round...

That's All Folks.

Here Lieth Bumble
XVIII Emperor of Logan Square,
Beloved of Guinness,
Conqueror of Squishy Leaves,
Martyr to Squirrels

I'll try to think of something serious.

I SAID CREMATION

"Trouble never dies"

"Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
And don't have any kids yourself."