I, Mark Wilson, being of sound and disposing mind and memory, do declare this to be my last gadget Will.
While at the time of this writing, I am a spry (OK, a bit soft) 26-year-old man, I realize that I could, at any moment in time, die. In such an unfortunate circumstance, should the world ever recover from its loss, I'd like my most important possessions (my gadgets and digital media) to be well-tended pending their obsolescence (two or three months from now).
I will, give, and bequeath unto the persons named below, if he or she survives me, the Property described below:
Pending that my iPhone 3G was not crushed by whatever huge boulder must have smashed me, I would like to leave it to someone very special in my life. My wife Elizabeth, a long time iPhone hater, recently admitted that she was wrong in denouncing the phone and purchasing a Blackberry Pearl instead. I know she would really, really enjoy having my iPhone.
Too late, sweetie! Your penance were not adequate. My iPhone should go to an underprivileged child who is resourceful enough to pay a $100/month subscription even though they haven't shoes on their feet. Actually, publicize the donation and guilt AT&T and/or Apple into picking up the tab. It'll help if the child can't read.
My Flickr Account
You can't give thousands of pretentious sepia photos to just anyone. No, these all go to the Art Institute of Chicago. May they reconsider my genius when macro photography of mundane objects constitutes an artistic revolution, or when there's finally a wing dedicated to LOLCatz.
My Plasma TV and Home Theater Accessories
The 46-inch Samsung plasma should be placed in my building's workout room where, as of now, some devil has placed two crappy 13-inch LCDs under the guise that anyone can actually see those things. My TV now belongs to the condo association, pending that neither ESPN nor ESPN2 can ever be watched on it.
My Tangled Box of Cords
Everyone has an obnoxious, tangled box of various cords, and I was no exception. I hated this box, but found it a necessity in the mortal world. Now that I have transcended to a higher plane of existence (hopefully involving wireless HDMI and unlimited refills at a peach margarita machine), I leave this box to the last person who wronged me in life. Whoever that may be, I fucking hate you and my grudge will be eternal, just like that knot of cords.
My Xbox 360 and Games
OK, now this was a tough one. Who gets all the games, the controllers and the overpriced Wi-Fi dongle? Humanity, that's who. And my gamer points go to Adam Frucci, the only guy who I know with less Live street cred than me. Well, him or my mom. Figure it out, lawyers. This point might go to trial.
Sell it on eBay. I wouldn't subject anyone I love to dealing with the horrors of the current Wiimote. If eBay has gone bankrupt, the lawyer has been instructed to bury the system in a time capsule until Wii MotionPlus comes out. If there's a decent amount of game support (I'm talking games with headshots and blood, people), it should go to my two adorable nieces to aid in their development.
Hahahahahaha. I mean, whoever will take this can have it! Hahahahahaha. Really though, in ten years, everyone will have them...pfft...hahahahhahahaha. Oh man, I'm funny even when dead.
My Low Digit ICQ Number
Mom, I know this has been hard for you, especially as you have no one to turn to regarding all things tech. No problem. You can have my five-digit ICQ number. (I realize you have no clue what that means.) It's OK. Walk into any chatroom with that and, trust me, 87264829 isn't giving you any shit, ever. You rule the internet now. Go forth and crush the opposition.
Always wash your hands before using. Before you turn it on, say three Hail Maries with "Steve" replaced for "Mary." No Boot Camping Vista, but Win 7 is fine. No watching YouTube clips where kids light their own farts on the screen. No chatting with other men on it. Don't worry about webcam restrictions, I've taken the liberty of breaking the iSight for you.
It should be noted that there is a lot of important media saved on the hard drive that represents not only my musical preferences but snippets of our life together. You are now the owner of all MP3s, photos, animated GIFs (this is a big score, honey), and videos.
On the condition that you never delete my Springsteen collection, as low as you may be on space, it's all yours. The computer is out in the hall. Please go claim it now. Mom? Sis? You can go with and help.
[They should leave the room.]
OK, Jason Chen. Quick. The MacBook is under your seat. I need you to delete some files. Go to my hard drive. Open "Applications." Open "System Files" folder. Open "DO NOT OPEN OR COMPUTER WILL MELT" folder. Open "I'M NOT JOKING." Open "SEARS CATALOG BABES WINTER 2002-2008." Select all files. If you have time, you can copy these to the external drive you were instructed to bring with in a past email. If not, select all and delete. Then empty trash. Thanks buddy. You're a true friend.
Oh, and to everyone. Don't mourn my passing. Remember, I'm not dead. My crippled body is merely frozen. When I awake from my long winter slumber, I'll be totally cured of ailments and donning a 7-foot titanium robot body complete with laser Gatlings and a turbo orgasm button. So don't feel sorry for Mark. That guy's doing just fine.
Well, that, or the cryogensis freezer failed, I was wrong about Christianity being fake and I'm burning through eternity in some poorly ventilated internet cafe that only has dial-up.