Hal Gyuczk, 79
All right, I"m NOT dead. So stop your dancing around and sit back down and keep reading this here obit. Since this Antenner page or whatever it"s called offers space to folks to pay for their obituaries, I thought I would take the bull by the horns and weigh in on myself before the end finally comes. It could be any day, or it could be a decade from now; you never know.
So, you sitting back down yet? You done celebrating my passing? Fie on you, all of you. You all want me dead anyway. Why? Why is it no one in my many families appreciates how hard I worked to provide? Why is it none of my five former wives can accept the fact that I moved on? They all kept saying I was afraid of intimacy. Well, I"m here to tell you, intimacy is for weenies! I grew up walking to school uphill both ways. I never had much in the way of luxuries, and if we got a potato in our Christmas stockings, it was the highlight of the year. You all had silver spoons gagging you from the beginning. When my gas station gave me the leverage to buy another, and then another, you all were more than happy to wine and dine with me. You lived high on the hog, but you were never satisfied, none of you. And then the children, don"t get me started on the children. Silver spoons, all of "em. No uphill ever for them. I"m a self-made man the way I wanted to construct myself. If that didn"t measure up to your ideals, so be it. Hal ain"t dead and you"re just going to have to wait. In fact, just to scare the living shit out of you, I"ve got myself signed up for one of them cryogenic storage facilities wherein technically, I"ll still be alive when I"m dead. And so my lawyer says I might be able to use that to get out of bequeathing my considerable wealth to my vast, ungrateful families. So chew on that!