Multiple clients are riding me about deadlines and other shit. Today sucks. So much so that I'm tempted to wish I was dead. And then it hit me. Ain't no funeral like a SF funeral. So, brethren and fellow nerds, please respect my final wishes: I shall be buried wearing a FIH knot. If the undertaker doesn't know what FIH means, immediately transport me to a different, more expensive (read: better) funeral home. No one should wear black suits to the wake. What is this, a funeral? Waiters wear black. My mewerly and beads must be biodegradable. Before being lowered into the hole, please take my shoes off and put shoe trees in them. If they're not lasted trees, then just cremate me as this was doomed from the start. Right before burial, my coffin is to be raised in front of a bathroom mirror for a final WIWT pic. Bury me with a linen and cream PS so I can be prepared in the event I meet Foo in the afterlife. I'm to be fitted for my burial suit posthumously, as to ensure weight loss, decomposition and an eventual severely dropped shoulder are all accounted for. My estate is to be added to the Marketplace and all PMs asking "What's the best you can do?" are to be ignored. I'll no doubt die before my Ambrosi order arrives, so don't worry about that. While it will be understood, no one is to comment on how much better my funeral would be had I registered before 2008. See you all in Hell.