I accomplished a task that I’ve been putting off for quite a spell, for every part of it has been distasteful to me since its conception. It involved lawyers, courthouse procedures, errant family members and old enemies.

Here it is in all its squalid glory, filed and registered at the Quantrim County Courthouse down at Moccasin Bend. I submit an accurate copy of the original document just so them pettifoggin’ lawyers can’t get together with the beneficiaries of said document and allow subterfuge to my last wishes.

Hereby I present: The last will and testament of Ricky Harpole.

I, Ricky Harpole do hereby distribute my worldly belongings to my heirs deserving and undeserving as they be. I further state that my mind is sound as a dollar (that don’t say much).
Praise glory, I’m dead and don’t have to bother with anything. I’m only writing this for publication because I want my readers to know my navigation of passage as per my wishes and have witnesses thereto; to head off the lawyers and keep my ticked-off heirs from breaking the will.
1. To my elder daughter who chose to spend more time with her horses than with her father in his last days, I leave my spurs. They are not the silver ones I won in the Austin Rodeo Competition, but rather the rusty bloody old pot metal I rode the Mexican Sorrel to death with 40 years ago. That was a mean and treacherous beast and I have always taken satisfaction in the deed.

I hope they bring you the measure of happiness and satisfaction they have given me. I had to sell the sliver ones to pay medical bills.

2. To my only son who spends all his time in his blacksmith shop when he’s not fishing I leave my favorite broken shop vice. After all, he has a smithy and can probably repair it and if he can’t it will make a real dandy trotline weight.

3. To my youngest daughter, who hasn’t given me the time of day, I bequeath my busted Ingorsal pocket watch. She and it have a lot in common and I hope it cheers her up. No time for daddy. Ain’t got time.

4. To my ex-wife, I leave my Arkansas fieldstone so she’ll have something to wet her tongue on to keep it sharp since I’m not around anymore for her to practice her hell-raising on.

5. The contents of my home I leave jointly to my ex and our children so they’ll have something to bicker about. That ought to keep ‘em happy for a while.

6. To the Republican Party, I give my 4-wheel drive truck with the 80 ton PTO driven winch with which they might pull themselves out of that mud hole they’ve been in for the last eight years or more.

7. To the Democratic Party, I leave the happy news that I’m not here to vote anymore.
8. I leave no heartfelt apologies to the local funeral director for building my own coffin and cheating him out of $5,000 for cardboard one he tried to sell me.

9. As to my collective inlaws I leave a prized momento from my sailing days, 290 feet of four strand manilla hemp rope with which to hang themselves, severally or individually. It was good enough for Captain Kidd so it ought to satisfy you.

10. To my first ex who shot me once with the same pistol that I’d given her for her birthday I leave my contraband supply of ballistic ammunition so she can do a cleaner job on her boyfriend than she did on me.

To anyone who thinks they’ve been left out of something they think they deserved, I leave the lyrics to an old John Prine song “you can carry my mouth — way down south and kiss my — goodbye.”

I’m sleepy now,
Ricky Harpole