Yesterday, I got an odd message from an old co-worker. It said, “Hey. Haven’t talked in a while. Just got a text from someone. Are you ok?”

Sounds cryptic, doesn’t it. Could be a scam, someone posing as my friend. Or it could be the CIA playing mind games on me. Or it could actually be my old co-worker. 

So, I responded via another method, just in case the text was a scam. And that’s when I found out I was dead. Or at least people thought I was. 

Turns out a board member, at the nonprofit I used to work at, read my obituary over the weekend. Then on Monday, they called my old employer to find out if I was indeed dead and that set off a chain reaction of messages. 

I haven’t been able to track down that obituary but I’m curious which Jeff Stanger died recently. This may sound crass, but there is one Jeff Stanger who I wouldn’t shed a tear for that lives in the same metro area as me. 

Since I moved here, I’ve had a steady stream of bill collectors trying to assign his shenanigans to me. His son even left me a voicemail one night, asking if he could move home. I said yes, but made sure to give him the other Jeff Stanger’s address. We’re trying to empty the nest, not fill it back up again! 

If it wasn’t the deadbeat Jeff Stanger, maybe it was somebody that lived a more exciting life than me. If so, I really need to find that obituary so I can copy it. 

When I got the news, I texted my wife, “Apparently I’m dead.”

She said I still had to deal with the HVAC guy who was coming to find/fix a basement leak from our unit. That told me there would be no excuses in the afterlife. It will be business as usual. 

I’m glad the end is here yet. I still have so much to do. I’m hoping to schedule a year or two worth of Tweets for after I’m dead. Just to mess with people. 

I also want to donate my pinkie toe. There are plenty of organ donors but very few (as in none at all) pinkie toe donors. I think there would be more pinkie toe replacement surgeries if people would step up and donate, but I haven’t done any actual research into it because there was a baseball game on TV. 

Finally, I would like to rig up my grave to pop up like a jack-in-the-box. The music would start playing when anybody got 2-3 graves away and then when they got in front of the headstone, pop goes the weasel! 

My wife is VERY opposed to this idea —to the point of being hostile. So, I may need your help carrying this out. And if any of you need a pinkie toe, when I’m gone, you’re welcome to it. 

Carry on, Citizens!