When I die I have the following requests:

Ed is in charge of my funeral. And ONLY Ed. He knows. He understands. He will play “Baby Got Back” and hire the clown dancers for me. He’ll do it up right.

Past that I would like it if, on the day of my funeral, everyone who has a blog that reads me post the lyrics to “Angel of the Morning” with no explanation. NEVER EXPLAIN! Let people dig and find this post if they want, don’t help them though.

Also, pour one out for your homie. But like a good one. No shitty beers. Damn.

And for the rest of your lives you must all refer to me as “Adam P. Knave, bless his heart” with all the Southern you can muster.

Oh! Oh! And I would really like it if someone took a picture of me and ironed it onto some underwear and had a troop of midget clowns wear it for a year. On top of their pants. That would rock.

Thanks guys.