My Last Will and Testament: No One Will Ever Love Me Like My Therapist

Saturday, March 24th, 2018

Published 4 weeks ago -


Being of sound mind and body, I declare this my Last Will and Testament, thereby revoking any and all previous Wills made by me, regardless of what my family says. Ignore them: all they did was make me feel bad about my career and they know that.


I attest that I have a family, some of whom will certainly outlive me. I do not care. None of them helped me like my therapist did; no one will ever love me like my therapist. She is my family now.


I would like to be buried with my therapist, Dr. Lucille Calabra, PhD. If she dies before me, nestle me into her as the smaller spoon to be protected by her for eternity. In the event that Dr. Lucille Calabra PhD’s “family” does not want my body crammed into the coffin with her, I have hid some damning evidence in her husband’s sock drawer that will get her body exhumed. I have preemptively hired a group of criminals to sneak my body into the coffin. When people see me in the coffin, they will be like “oh, that must have been in there before, let’s just throw this therapist back in.”

In the event that she outlives me, use some of my funds to hire a private eye to watch her for the rest of her life and snatch her body the moment she dies. Tie her body to my cryogenically frozen one, and set us both on fire in her office. The glory of the flames will bond us in a way that my family never bonded with me.


All debts due should be paid by my biological family. They owe me big time. Their only contribution to my life were passive-aggressive comments like, “well, you do like bread, don’t you?” According to my therapist, comments like those are why I cry in the supermarket.


I bestow all of my tangible personal property owned by me at the time of my death including, without limitation, personal effects, clothing, jewels, furniture, furnishings, appliances, art, birds, household goods, automobiles and other vehicles to, you guessed it, my saintly therapist.


I bestow and bequeath any interest which may belong to me at the time of my death to my nephew Craig — just kidding! Craig once lightly hit me with a jet ski. It will all be going to Dr. Lucille Calabra, PhD (who, I hope you can remember, is my therapist).


In the event that my therapist has moved onto heaven before me, I have no choice but to give my belongings, money and estate to her children, less as a gesture to her family, but as a middle finger to mine. Dr. Lucille Calabra, PhD said that we make our own families, so her children are my siblings now and she is my mother. Let it be known that I would rather give my valuables to children that I have never met than to my Aunt Gina. She is a bully and once forgot me in a restroom at the Atlantic City Bus Terminal. She is one reason that I later needed to see therapist.


The only possessions that my family will inherit are the gifts they gave me when I was alive, such as the “Lordy, Lordy, I’m Over 40” sweatshirt I received for my thirty-eighth birthday, the half-used Chili’s gift card for my college graduation and the eight boxes of indoor fireworks for my wedding. In the words of my therapist “I’m not one to diagnose someone who isn’t here, but they all sound like psychopaths. No one should own a jet ski, especially not a nine-year-old boy.”

It is because of her insurance compatible services, phenomenal pillow collection and devastating insights about my family, that I am leaving everything to my fucking therapist.

Leyton Cassidy is a comedian and writer based in New York City. She grew up in New Mexico and recently bought a hairless cat off of CraigsList named Darwin. She works for Full Frontal with Samantha Bee and The Rundown with Robin Thede. Check out her literary comedy podcast Classic(s) Bitch on iTunes.

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