I, Bernard Irwin Wesley of the Wesley Estate, Manhattan, being of sound mind, do hereby willfully and voluntarily make known my desire that my life be prolonged as long as possible, no matter the conditions, and do hereby further declare:
1. If I should, at any time, have an incurable condition caused by any disease or illness, or by any accident or injury, and be determined by any two or more physicians to be in a terminal condition whereby the use of "heroic measures" or the application of life-sustaining procedures would only serve to delay the moment of my death, and where my attending physician has determined that my death is imminent whether or not such "heroic measures" or life-sustaining measures are employed, I direct that such measures and procedures be executed immediately, regardless of cost, estimated success rate and possible side effects and/or reactions with any current treatements.
2. In the event of my inability to give directions regarding the application of life-sustaining procedures or the use of "heroic measures", it is my intention that this directive shall be honored by my god-forsaken family and physicians as my final expression of my right to restrict their access to my money and holdings.
3. In the event of my timely death I leave:
To my wife: One token good for that damned massage she's always asking me to give her. Good luck when I'm dead!
To my wife's secret lover(s): It seems somebody accidentally placed (a) bounty(ies) on your head(s). Three and a half million (each), to be exact.
To my two mooching sons: I leave them one of my used dry clean only suits each, after they have been mechanically washed and put through the dryer, as well as two lumps of coal each Christmas.
To my whore of a daughter: I leave to you a packet of faulty birth control pills, in the hope that you will use them thinking that they will prevent you and your no-good husband from having an untimely offspring, but discover too late that they were placebos.
To my nephew, Ted Wesley: I have not seen you since you were a child, thank the lords above, and as such you have not been able to beg me for anything. Considering you yourself came from a wealthy family, I doubt a little more money will make any difference. I leave to you all my estates, my Luxury Liner, any other ships I may have sitting around, all the bank notes and credit cards I've stuffed into my matress over the years in an effort to keep my mooching wife out of my earnings, and any other holdings not otherwise mentioned in this document.
To his daughter, Sarah Wesley: I leave my cat, Snuffles, and a bottle of vodka.
To my lawyer, Larry 'Loophole' Wiles, I leave my second-best suit and half a bottle of twelve year old scotch.
3. I am mentally, emotionally and legally competent to make this directive and I fully understand its import, and intend for it to spite my family in any and every way possible.
4. I reserve the right to revoke this directive, as well as the breathing rights of any members of my direct family, at any time.
5. This directive shall remain in force until my family show me a reason to love them.
IN WITNESS WHEREOF, I have hereto set my hand and seal this document, day of Marc 23rd, 819 AD.
Garry 'Loophole' Wiles - Declaration of Witnesses
'Yer damned fool of a computer!' Ted shouted, as he slammed his coffee mug upon the dashboard. 'No! Ah dun wants ter update me damned tech support subscription! Ah just wants yer to take me outter shis 'ere hanger, an' inter orbit!' Ted Wesley continued to pound upon the dashboard of his Camara Freighter.
The crackle from his Neuralnet dashboard interrupted him. 'Incoming call! Will you accept? Incoming call! Will you accept? Incoming call! Will you-'
'If it'll shut yer the hell up!', he shouted.
An image of a clean, tidy man, the kind whom quite possibly irons his underwear, appeared on his dashboard's screen. 'This is Mister Ted Wesley?' he asked.
'Aye, 'tis me, an' if yew'll excushe me, I were just leavin'.'
'Hold one moment, please. I have here several legal documents adressed to your name, if you'd care to meet up with me, it seems you've inher-'
'Oi! Just one moment! Legal documentsh? And is that a briefcase ah sees in yer hand? Yer a damned lawyer, ain't yeh? Well yer not gettin' me back inter detox!'
'Sir, one moment, please!'
'Tah hell wit' that! Computer lady! Canshel the call an take us ter space! We's gotta move!'
When the LPI were called to the scene, it seemed a combination of shoddy programming and drunk driving had caused the Camara to reverse into the hangar wall. The only occupant, a filthy, stinking man, somewhere between the age of 30 and 75, was found passed out with many liquour bottles strewn around him. He was dumped in the Newark Station medical bay, where he proceeded to try and drink from his IV, convinced it contained alcohol.