Burg, I think your death would best serve the board, and the others who will follow in your wheeltracks, if you just leave Monkey whatever ailments you can collect over the next few, short weeks.

Perhaps a bell jar full of botulism, cheekily labeled as botox. A humorous balloon full of Sarin. Anthrax spores placed inside Smelly Monkey's comedy trombone, or herpes (not the normal 'street' version, but the really vicious Irons-04 strain which is apparently incurable) on his lip balm.

Just a thought.

You know Monkey would do it for you.