I, Cow, being of sound mind and body… Or, you know. Close enough. Lemme start again.
I, Cow, do hereby declare that, um…
I'm sorry. I'm having trouble concentrating. I'm just excited, you know? Today is the big day! I'm finally going to make something of myself: food!
Okay, okay, this is serious. This is serious stuff. Okay.
I, Cow, do hereby declare that when I am at last freed from the burden of being, you know, alive, I have certain demands. For after, you know?
Am I making any sense? Do you need to edit that part out?
Okay, so here are the demands.
Demand #1: I would like the people who slaughter me to make insensitive jokes and hold my head up like a puppet and make it talk. With funny voices, you know?
Demand #2: Once I'm dead and drained, I would like people to say "Moo!" to me, as though they're talking to me. And then laugh.
Demand #3: This one's the most important. I would like whoever eats me in burger form to drink a particular brand of soft drink shortly afterward.
That's all. That's all I got. This makes sense, right? I mean, you must meet a lot of weirdos in your job, right? But this is perfectly reasonable, right?
(Thanks to Dr. Lise for the referral.)