Dead Broke: How to Write a Will When You Have Nothing to Leave Behind
So, you’ve gotten your own place, opened up a savings account (with a $1 minimum), and brought home a pet goldfish from the traveling carnival down the street. You even chopped an entire carrot and made a homemade sort of stew. Congrats, you’re well on your way to adult-of-the-month status. But there’s still one thing missing from your portrait of adulthood, and that’s a will. Because nothing shouts responsible grown-up like legally listing all your possessions and assigning them to people you know before you kick the bucket. And don’t be concerned if you don’t have much in the way of stuff just yet. Trust us, it’s much easier to bequeath your earthly possessions when you don’t have a whole lot to begin with. So if you’re the type of man who likes to have a plan, here’s how to write a will when you have nothing to leave behind.
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To my placeholder girlfriend who none of my friends ever liked,
I leave my checkbook, in perfect unused condition.
To my dear uncle who's probably in jail by now,
I bequeath my entire collection of cereal boxes and whatever's in the freezer.
To my dear absentee father and all his various girlfriends,
I leave my toothbrush and one half of any remaining toothpaste.
To my dear aunt who never found love because of her personality,
I leave my dancing clogs which I found in the subway while riding home from jury duty. May they bring you joy in the downhill years of your life.
To my dear out-of-shape cousin who always wears workout pants,
I leave my slightly used coupon book to Burger King, valued at well over $10. Treat yourself and think of me.
To my other cousins twice removed who always smell slightly of fish sticks,
I leave my old jeans.
To my dear racist sister,
I leave my Dave and Buster’s loyalty rewards card, good for a free soda with purchase of banana cream pie.
To my dear emotionally abusive mother,
I leave my unpaid parking tickets as well as any remaining toilet paper left on the roll. Please keep it in the family.
To any obnoxious children that may arise posthumously,
I leave all the socks in the top drawer of my dresser. I promise there’s a matching pair in there somewhere.