Last Will and Testament of Patrick W. Dunkler, Conspiracy Theorist.
I, Patrick Washington Dunkler, being of exceptionally sound mind and body, do hereby declare this to be my Last Will and Testament. I am a senior member of the Search for Historical Inaccuracies and the Revelation of Truth, herein referred to as “SHIRT.”
So, They finally got me! Who was it? The Government? The Freemasons? The MPAA? I must congratulate Them on a job well done. I am not an easy man to fool. How did I die? Did They poison the stamps I lick? Invent an aluminum-foil-piercing weapon? Switch out the pizza guy for a sexy female assassin who seduced me, then stabbed me with an icepick? I hope I wasn’t a victim of the old “black-limo drive-by.” Well, it doesn’t matter now. I’ve lived a full life, and there are at least two other members of SHIRT to continue where I have fallen.
The first matter of business: my body. Assuming I didn’t “accidentally” fall into a vat of acid that destroyed even my bones, I would like the United States Government to bury me next to President John F. Kennedy. What’s that? You can’t? Oh, isn’t that interesting. How about next to Elvis? No? Jesus? I hope you understand that this is a legally binding document, and by failing to comply, you admit that these men are not really dead!
Personal Representative of the Estate
I hereby name the organization SHIRT to administer my estate. If SHIRT has been killed in a catastrophic and unexplainable accident, possibly involving circus elephants, then all hope is lost, and it really doesn’t matter what happens to my estate. Set it on fire, if you like.
My fellow members of SHIRT, please take good care of my cat and my mother, if she is still alive. I pray that I was not framed for her murder and killed by the police in a bloody but seemingly justified shootout on Route 8.
As you know, I am not a rich man, because I was never able to rise above the role of errand boy at Channel Six News. Oh, I was the best errand boy they ever had, but They knew that I could never be allowed near the cameras. Even that one Christmas party where I got drunk and stumbled onto the set during a broadcast, I was tackled before I could utter so much as a name. (The name would have been “Peter Daggapo,” one of the most dangerous men in America. Look it up. You won’t be able to find him.) Oh, how maddening it was! To be so close to and yet so far from freeing the sheeplike masses of Minnesota from the shackles of ignorance! But I digress. I hereby donate the sum of $19.95 to the most famous center for research in whatever cancer They say I died of. Any remaining money I wish to donate to the SHIRT Scholarship Fund.
You have no doubt heard of my legendary collection of evidence against the secret societies that control our lives. Indeed, it is an awe-inspiring compilation of photographs and legal documents that will, quite frankly, blow your mind. I leave this in its entirety to you, fellow Shirties. It’s all there, from the photograph of my former girlfriend, who turned out to be a vampire; to the alien cup holder I found on my tour of the breweries of Roswell; to the Google Maps printout of where the moon landing was faked. Now, I know that They will have someone eavesdropping when this is read aloud, so I need to tell you the location in code:
The ilesfay are in the oeboxshay in my edroombay osetclay.
Keep them safe!
Lastly, please do not attempt to avenge my death. I understand your outrage, and I am flattered that you would risk your lives to do so, but you cannot beat Them at their own game. We will win the war, but it will take time. Whenever you see a lost soul mindlessly taking a news report as fact, explain to them how all news media is owned by the same 400-year-old Asian man. Whenever you see a child playing with an electronic toy, smash it to bits, and tell them about the tracking device inside, once they’ve stopped crying. And whenever you see someone drinking cappuccino, tell them about all the mind-altering chemicals the Government adds to the Styrofoam cups and free napkins. Remember: it is better to light a candle than to punch the darkness. Stay strong, my brothers! Truth will prevail!
In the event that I die of truly natural causes, please disregard my previous instructions and bury me below a tombstone that reads: “I fought The Illuminati and all I got was this lousy tombstone.”
Patrick Washington Dunkler
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