Sno’ Witty™ spends her Monday writing her own eulogy — a chaotic, comedic, algorithm‑friendly exploration of legacy, goblins, genetics, and Google Drive grief
BREAKFAST — The Monday Morning Memorial Service
It’s Monday.
The sun rose.
My coffee brewed.
And my brain said:
“Let’s write our own eulogy before lunch.”
Classic Sno’.
While normal people start the week with planners, smoothies, or a motivational quote from someone named “Coach Brent,” I woke up and chose archival comedy.
Meanwhile, inside my body, the wrinkle goblin was already clocked in — tiny hardhat, tiny clipboard, tiny union‑violating attitude — preparing to etch a new stress line across my forehead.
But then I laughed.
And the goblin, offended, threw his tiny wrench and screamed because serotonin is his natural predator.
MIC DROP:
If the goblin wanted stability, he should’ve unionized before Monday.
LUNCH — Legacy, Genetics & The Aunt Anne Situation
By noon, I was elbows‑deep in my own mythology.
My geneticist aunt Anne — somewhere in the cosmic void wearing safety goggles and a lab coat — is probably asking:
“Did I manipulate DNA in the 80s for Emily to spend her adult life writing eulogies for herself on a Monday?”
Yes, Anne.
This is the legacy.
This is the assignment.
This is the brand.
My current life updates?
Let’s roll the tape:
- Two dogs judging me like unpaid interns
- A condo full of sticker sheets and 3D printer grief
- A boyfriend who willingly goes mushroom hunting with me
- A Google Drive that is legally a crime scene
- A brain that runs on pattern recognition, caffeine, and spite
- A blog that oscillates between investigative journalism and gremlin‑coded performance art
And now, a self‑authored eulogy.
Because if I don’t write it, someone else will stand up at my funeral and say:
“Sno’ loved animals.”
And my ghost will immediately knock over a lamp.
MIC DROP:
Genetics gave me the hardware. Chaos installed the software. Monday pressed “run.”
DINNER — Estate Planning for the Digitally Chaotic
By dinner, I realized something horrifying:
If I don’t get my digital life together, some future child named Brayden will inherit my Google Drive.
And Brayden — born in a subdivision called The Preserve at Whispering Oaks — will absolutely monetize my unfinished PDFs.
He will rename my life’s work:
GoblinOps™: Emotional Infrastructure for the Post‑Workflow Economy
And raise $14 billion.
I will haunt him.
Not softly.
Not poetically.
Aggressively.
Every time he opens a Google Doc, I will appear in the margins whispering:
“That was a Canva draft and you know it.”
MIC DROP:
If Brayden profits off my legacy before I do, I’m allowed to become malware.
DESSERT — The Jaxxon Acknowledgment Clause
No eulogy is complete without acknowledging the Jaxxons of the world.
Not because they did anything wrong —
but because their parents did.
A Jaxxon is born into conflict.
A Jaxxon is born already fighting Microsoft Word’s red underline.
A Jaxxon is born with a destiny:
- motivational speaker
- sneaker reseller
- crypto evangelist
- or all three
We honor them.
From a distance.
MIC DROP:
Some children inherit land. Jaxxon inherited a spelling dispute.
THE EULOGY — Written by Sno’ Witty™ (Because Who Else Could Be Trusted)
If you’re reading this, I have either:
- Died
- Finally organized my Google Drive
- Or it’s just Monday and I needed a project
This is not a goodbye.
This is a content drop.
This is legacy‑building with punchlines.
This is estate planning for the chronically online.
This is Sno’ Witty™ refusing to let anyone else narrate her life.
Because the truth is simple:
Sno’ Witty™ cannot die.
She only rebrands.
And somewhere, the wrinkle goblin is still mad.
Good.
Let him be mad.
He tried to build wrinkles on company time.
FINAL MIC DROP:
If laughter ruins the goblin’s workflow, the goblin was never management material.
Leave a Reply