I wanted to get this out now, before shit gets really out of hand, before the wheels completely fall apart and the barn has collapsed and the river has run dry and the car is finally out of gas. In the face of near-certain bleakness I felt it was important to take care of my affairs and items of personal interest.
So let us begin.
You should write this down, especially if you care about me. I hope you do.
I care about you.
I am suffering from crippling allergies. Pollen has once again grabbed hold of me tightly and yes, again it seems like I could be a goner. This isn’t a joke. I wish it was. This is a joke: why did the scarecrow get promoted? Because he was outstanding in his field. That was a joke. This isn’t.
Now this is the important part. If I am to die at the hands of said allergies, I want you to have my CDs. You can all of them. I don’t have the cases anymore, most of the liner notes are in a box somewhere. The CDs are mostly in books. There are about four of them.
They’re all yours.
And remember, I love you.
Because you’re cool.
Enjoy the CDs.