I have decided to revise my last will and testament. The person to whom I previously bequeathed my entire estate, the woman with the enormous mammaries, apparently cannot be located, so I will have to designate new heirs. They are as follows:
My new iron lung shall go to my eldest son, U. Fairfax; I give my shawl to son V. Lucius; J. Phineas shall receive three crates of Dr. Wessel’s Patented Lubrication Ointment; my twin sons R. Buckminster and G. Talmadge shall each receive one of my prosthetic ears; and my youngest son M. Prescott, whom I love more than all my children, for he is the son of my old age, shall receive my stereoscope, along with all my stereoscope-cards, including my coveted set of views of Niagara Falls.
The next people I wish to reward are those who have been in my employ for many years. They have shown me more love and loyalty than most of my wretched family, and have stood by me through both good times and bad.
First, there is my stable-boy Augustus, who saved my life once by applying a soothing liniment to my anus, which was chock-full with the most hideously painful piles I have ever experienced. Ah, my intrepid, dutiful little Augustus! Upon my death, sweet Augustus, you may take the pick of the litter of my prize brood-sow, Butter-ball.
And, finally, how could I draft my last will and testament without mentioning my faithful man-servant, Standish, who has served as head butler of my vast estate and my trusted confidante for the better part of this century. Standish, you are the man who provided for my every hedonistic whim. You helped me successfully black-mail President Harding. You drove the get-away carriage after I heaved a cinder-block upon the cranium of the editor of The Brickton Atlas-Trumpet, P. Oliver Gummidge. For all that you have done, I give you the greatest of gifts, a gift I know you have sorely desired all your life. Standish, upon my death, you shall be given the first name of Ephraim.
The rest of my estate—mansion, assets, stocks and bonds, jewels, motor-cars, art collection, etcetera—will go to Amos ’N’ Andy. Thanks for all the laughs, boys!
T. Herman Zweibel, the great grandson of Onion founder Friedrich Siegfried Zweibel, was born in 1868, became editor of The Onion at age 20, and persisted in various editorial posts until his launching into space in 2001. Zweibel’s name became synonymous with American business success in the 20th century. Many consider him the “Father Of American Journalism,” also the title of his well-known 1943 biography, written by Norman Rombauer.
