Wait...I'm in the Monkey Cage, I don't see an exit, and I've just provoked Gen. Hang on a second baby...

Being of sound mind and body, I hereby bequeeth my copy of the Chicago Manual of Style to Smelly Monkey, and my collection of photographs of Islamic religious leaders in fashionable poses to jrc. Smartt likes classic literature, so I'm leaving him Knut Hamson's great modernist novel Hunger. Hint, hint, big guy. To Jeff Steward I leave the phone numbers of all the girls who ever stiffed me for a date; he's the only person I known of who can make a business out of people who don't show up. To Brandon Iron I leave my textbooks on game theory. If you're going to play games, learn how to do it right. I know you won't read them, but one may fall off the shelf and knock a clue into your head. To Mellissa Lauren I leave the kitchen knives. They've just been sharpened; you could dismember an elephant in five minutes with those things. Forget porn, you've got great things ahead of you in horror. To Smiling Arab, the lawyer, I leave an Islamic law text. In about two days he'll have worked out a theory of how the Hanafi school of jurisprudence leads to ugly women. To Cleetus, I leave all the evil in my soul. It will be safe in his hands; he's not capable of using evil. To Taylor Rain, I leave my asshole. You're going to need a spare. Try not to break this one. To Bush I leave all the sexual innuendo inherent in his name and to Kerry the phallic imagery suggested by his jaw. Were ever two people more meant for each other? To Zenman, as an avatar, I leave a photograph of Zen Master Ian Kishizawa, an ardent supporter of the Japanese occupation of Korea and China. To Corina Taylor I leave a life size cardboard cutout of any rock musician of her choice. He's gorgeous, he's sexy, and he's not afraid to hang out with you in public. Unfortunately, he's two dimensional, but that's rock musicians for you.

OK Gen, I'm ready. Dies irae dies illa...