A Millennial’s Last Will and Testament

Adulting, amirite?!

To my loved ones:

If you’re reading this, it means I’ve passed on — most likely impaled by one of my many participation trophies. As you divvy up my assets, keep in mind the never-ending barrage of unprecedented times that cockblocked (that’s legalese for ruined) my entire life.

I never really acquired much in the way of “stuff” or “accomplishments,” thanks to multiple recessions, student loan debt, a lack of jobs and affordable housing, a global pandemic, that time eggs got all expensive, and the fact that it just kinda sounded like a lotta work. Nevertheless, I bequeath to you my worldly possessions, as listed heretoforthwhence:

My college roommate’s mom’s Netflix login
Thank you for everything, Mrs. Kovitsky. Though we never met in person, it has been an absolute pleasure destroying your algorithm since 2008.

My box of miscellaneous cables
Don’t throw these out! You might need them someday! Yes, I bought dozens of off-brand chargers instead of just buying one full-priced cable that actually works. Yes, they are tangled. Yes, it’s impossible to tell what each one is actually for. YOU deal with it; I’m dead. 

My manifestation journal
Turns out this does not work.

My college diploma
Turns out this also does not work.

My collection of Beanie Babies™ 
Still think these might work!

My digital photo roll
Or, as I like to call it, my 401K — in that it contains 401,000 unsorted images, mostly of my dog, sometimes of my tits. Please only look at the dog photos.
(Actually… bury me with my phone.)

My CD collection
Apologies in advance: *~SuMmEr DriViNg MiX 5~* skips.

A small army of houseplants
I raised these monsteras and fiddle leaf figs like they were my own children. (Mainly because I couldn’t afford to have children.) I did it all — spritzed their leaves, replenished their soil, took pictures of them before the prom. Motherhood really is the best job in the world. Except for the part where you have to watch all your kids die because you forgot to give them water. Oopsie!

My secret recipe
It’s butter pasta.

I love you forevermore. Per my wishes, please Crank Dat Soulja Boy at my funeral.

Literally Deceased,
A Millennial

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