As we get older and begin contemplating lying down in the ditch behind the Target and letting the Universe wash over us, our minds often turn to what we will leave behind. We have all sorts of tools for handling these last wishes -- wills, estate lawyers, deathbed curses, revenge lists, hastily scribbled notes on which browser caches to delete -- but some last requests are rather less reasonable.
After you're gone, what will your romantic partner do? They might remain celibate, or remarry, or start publicly dating their sex pillow. It's all technically their business at that point. But some people can't accept that, like Milena Marinkovic.
She knew she was about to die, and she also knew that she didn't want her husband to look at another woman ever again. And while that's a little mean, what she did to enforce her desire was kind of bonkers. She requested that a replica of her vagina be engraved on her tombstone. "This way you will always remember me," she explained, in what must have been an incredibly awkward letter to read. And her husband, this dude -- this crazy son of a bitch -- he actually did it!
This request wasn't easy to execute, incidentally, because it turns out stonemasons aren't super keen on carving images of genitals onto things. Especially tombstones. Several described the idea as blasphemous. But one eventually did it, which is how we ended up with ... well, that mystifying image above.
Reportedly, the deceased woman's brother had to ask the husband why the bird on the tombstone had such a large beak, unaware that he was looking at a facsimile of his sister's cooter. And while we don't see a bird (it's clearly a sea turtle), we're sure everybody did the best they could under these bizarre, bizarre circumstances.
When you die, you probably imagine your vast fortune will be inherited by your children, your spouse, or other close relatives. One of your friendlier cats, maybe. But what if you don't have any of those? What if you're almost alone in the world?
Luis Carlos de Noronha Cabral de Camara had a name that could only belong to minor Portuguese royalty, and he had the minor fortune to go with it, all inherited from his grandmother. But he didn't have much else. No siblings he was close to. No spouses or children. No real friends. By all accounts, he sounded like a fairly unhappy man, and spent much of his life on a direct course to drinking himself to death.
But if he died without a will, all his money would go to the state, and if there was one thing Luis Carlos hated more than everyone else, it was the state. But how do you even make a will with no heirs? Well, when Luis went to the notary, his solution involved asking for a copy of the phone book and not blinking when he was repeatedly asked if he was serious. That's how 70 people around Lisbon got a call from his lawyer after he passed away, telling them they were entitled to a part of his estate.
So there's hope yet if you've fallen behind on your own retirement savings. Just live closer to disconsolate Portuguese nobility!
T.M. Zink was an attorney in Iowa with a sizable estate and a fiery hatred for women everywhere. In fact, he hated the fairer sex so much that when he died in 1930, he left instructions for his estate to be divided as such: His daughter was to receive $5, his spouse was to receive "not one cent," and $50,000 was to be invested in a trust for the eventual foundation of the Zink Womanless Library, an institution which would feature books and art made exclusively by people who weren't women, and also wouldn't even permit women to enter!
Was Zink insane? Well, at the risk of making a diagnosis across a vast expanse of time and distance, yes, very much so. But he really wanted to assure you he wasn't. As he explained in his will:
So he's got receipts, then. If you don't hate women, you simply haven't done your homework. Anyways, his daughter successfully fought this in court, getting a ruling that her father was partially insane, on account of the fact that her father was completely insane. She ended up with the entire estate, and while there's no word on what she did with it, judging by the lack of dong-mandatory libraries around, we can guess what she didn't.
Aldous Huxley is today best known for his dystopian novel Brave New World, but later in life he was known for his work with balls. Specifically, the tripping of them. He even wrote a book called The Doors Of Perception about his trips to the wild side. Huxley's experiments with drugs continued right up until the very end of his life. In fact, his last wish was for more of them.
And at that point, three years into a fight with cancer, who could blame him? He died shortly thereafter, and by accounts of those present, he went out as peacefully and painlessly as possible. "Drug user enjoys drugs; dies" isn't exactly a revelatory headline, but we're talking about the guy who literally wrote the book on them here. Seemed worth mentioning.
If you've ever made something -- whether it be a table, a song, or a new sexual position -- you know that feeling of pride. This damn thing didn't exist until you made it. It's a powerful sensation, and it's only natural to want to carry that feeling with you through the billowing curtains of death.
Fredric Baur was the inventor of both Pringles and the Pringles can, a greater achievement than any philosopher thought man capable of. So when he wanted to be buried in one of his iconic cans, his heirs laughed ...but not for long. When the fateful day came, they had the courtesy to fulfill his dying wish, burying him in an Original flavor can which they'd obtained, as per the ancient custom, in a Walgreens earlier that day.
Similarly, Ed Headrick, inventor of the modern Frisbee, was so proud of his creation that he wanted to be buried in one. Students of concave shapes will already see the problem here, in that the Frisbee isn't really the ideal container for keeping ashes. At least, not during the slightest breeze, anyway. Evidently, Headrick's heirs came up with a solution: pressing the ashes into the plastic itself, which was probably a real fun day for whoever's job it was to clean that machine.
Still, the deed was done, and Headrick could live on forever in the form of his choosing. No word on whether his final final wish was to get stuck on a roof for several years, but let's assume that it was.
In the event that you have to handle the death of your nearest and dearest loved one, by which we mean your dog, it's not the best idea to press her ashes into a Frisbee. Consider a nice pet urn instead.
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Bawitdaba, pass the green beans.
Going for that 16th minute.