Bad news Chaotica fans. She’s dead.
I mean, probably.
This is Jenkins. I’ve made appearances in this post and this one. I’ve come to the conclusion that Chaotica is either dead or pretending to be dead. I’m at her house, the flaming wreck of her zeppelin is crashed outside, and the fainting goats that she keeps around in case she needs to make a quick escape from zombies have mostly wandered off. I’ve found a bunch of papers which, in between dolphin stickers, dark rituals and drawings of meat, appear to be her last will and testament, as well as I think a musical she was writing? I’m publishing them here because I can’t be bothered tracking down all of the recipients. Congratulations to those people. My text is in bold, hers isn’t.
By the way, I’ve had to edit out A LOT of material that didn’t directly pertain to her final wishes, but I’ve scanned some irrelevant items for the sake of humour. It’s what she would have wanted, maybe.
Hilarious!
To whom it may concern:
If you are reading this, I have been eaten, hexed, decapitated, dissolved or turned into a small goblin. I know my loss may come as a shock, but the prophecies have been very clear that I would meet my end June 1st, 2036, so by now I should have made arrangements with our robot overlords to have my consciousness uploaded. If all goes according to plan, I should now exist in the form of a spreadsheet application marketed towards amateur astronomers, but which is actually designed to induce madness and sporadically display random facts about dinosaurs. Anyway, the point is I no longer have any need for my material possessions, so I’m leaving them to the entities listed below.
Chaotica… What?!
She always loved giving advice.
I leave any and all uneaten foods in my house to the family of possums who live outside, provided they don’t give it to the poor.
Every part of this image is great advice for anyone.
I leave the contents of the small wooden box that is with me at all times to the person who kills me. Polish it twice a day and never let it get wet. If it starts glowing, that means there are malevolent beings nearby, usually fitness instructors.
If at this point I still haven’t found Walt Disney’s frozen corpse and the doubloons with which he is entombed, I guess I leave my notes and maps to the administrator of Disneyland California. We had our differences but he works hard and he’s earned it.
Ok, I never really understood Chaotica’s weird enmity with the Disney Corporation, specifically this ‘administrator’ she keeps mentioning. It’s probably somewhere on this blog though…
I leave my collection of eyeless dolls to NASA. They know why.
To that dick amazing gentleman Jenkins I leave jack sh my sea cave in South America and also anything he can find in my zeppelin before it burns completely.
You didn’t believe me, did you? Can’t figure out why she’d write it like this though.
To my old friend the Prime Minister of (*) I leave one final mission. You have to crash my zeppelin into Mt Ragnorok before the next full moon. The fate of our people is at stake.
(*) Here, instead of writing the name of the country, Chaotica has painted an elaborate depiction of a rat that has been run over by some kind of vehicle. I tried to scan it but the computer only shows an error message that reads “Danger: Ineffable.”
So here’s more dolphins and meat instead.
The envelopes given to all of my friends to be opened in the event of my death may now be read, but only quietly, in an airtight room with a pentagram painted on the floor and the Lucasfilm Logo painted on the roof.
As was previously mentioned, I now exist as a terrible computer program, so I don’t care much about where my physical body is laid to rest. That being said, I do have some requests. I want my head to be preserved in the interest of science/ hilarious antics. I don’t want any of my organs used for life-saving transplants, with the exception of the spider egg-sack embedded in my neck. I care a lot about the millions of disadvantaged children born without egg-sack necks each year.
I’ve enjoyed some degree of success in the publishing world in the last few years, but there’s one book of which I am particularly proud. If my publishers would be so kind, I would like them to print new editions of my autobiography, Bossypants by Tina Fey. Only this time don’t leave out the original content which was mostly dolphin stickers, dark rituals, drawings of meat, and plans for A Singalong of Ice and Fire.
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I am so glad she’s dead.
chaoticathebutterfly 