The Last Will and Testament of Wilford W. Wiwi

Bob “Bingo” Mullins, Esq. tapped his feet impatiently under his recently acquired cocobolo desk. His 62-year-old feet were cradled in moccasins that his dumb son insisted he should start wearing. His 62-year-old brain hated that he liked the way they felt, especially since they didn’t match the rest of his suit. He decided to remain at his desk in case the family he would speak to decided to criticize his fashion choice.

“Am I 62?” He thought. “What about the nine months I’d spent in mother’s womb?... Am I really 63?”

Three members of the Wiwi family barged into Mr. Mullin’s office. In front was Sheila– Wilford’s voluptuous widow, followed by her anorexic son Hubert, followed by Hubert’s drug-addicted cousin, Keyboard. Most people don’t know Keyboard’s real name is Daniel.

“Oh, Mr. Mullins! We’re here for my dead husband’s war chest,” Sheila said in a tone arguably too cheery for the occasion.

“Uh, yes. Please, make yourselves comfortable,” Bob motioned to the three chairs opposite his desk.

“Shit, homie. This a fine-ass table,” Keyboard chimed in, “This national park redwood?”

“Uh, no.” Bob was taken aback. “It’s a cocobolo desk. It’s becoming popular among my colleagues and I decided to follow the trend. Now, I have Mr. Wiwi’s will when you’re all wedy– uh, ready.” He corrected himself.

All three hopeful Wiwi will beneficiaries laughed at him, which all four in the room knew was gauche. The only one who seemed somewhat ashamed to laugh was Hubert, whose laugh was more of a pitying shake of the head, some staccato exhalation from his nostrils, and one of those unconfident smile-frowns.

“Homeboy Elmer Fudd! He talkin’ about getting ‘weddy’ like he going to a wedding!” Keyboard mused out loud. “That’s rich!”

“What? No, I said ‘ready.’ Not ‘wedy’.” He lied, which was futile, not only because the three Wiwis who sat in front of him were assholes, but because they collectively had six ears to oppose his measly two, and this is the kind of thing you want to nip in the bud before the reaction becomes a favorite memory in the lives of everyone involved.

Bob knew this reading of the will would be his most difficult in quite some time. Beads of sweat began trickling down his forehead and temples as he tried to compose himself. He adjusted his glasses, hoping they would remain affixed to his time-tested most ideal position.

“Folks, I have several appointments I have to attend to, so I would appreciate… uh, I would appreciate it if we could speed this along.”

He adjusted his glasses once again, as they were sliding down the bridge of his nose, courtesy of his migrating forehead sweat.

“Please,” Hubert said in his almost inaudible voice.

“Thank you.” Bob was relieved, although he didn’t know why. He began reading Wilford Wiwi’s words:

“I, Wilford W. Wiwi, being of sound body and mind bequeath my property, assets, and all remaining funds to my lawyer, Bob ‘Bingo’ Mullins…”