today is the birthday of edgar allan poe. it's supposedly a mystery how he died; no autopsy was performed, but some people have their theories. these theories include:

Beating (1857)

Epilepsy (1875)

Dipsomania (1921)

Heart (1926)

Toxic Disorder (1970)

Hypoglycemia (1979)

Diabetes (1977)

Alcohol Dehydrogenase (1984)

Porphryia (1989)

Delerium Tremens (1992)

Rabies (1996)

Heart (1997)

Murder (1998)

Epilepsy (1999)

Carbon Monoxide Poisoning (1999)

my personal theory is that it was a bagel-related injury that, without proper medical attention, eventually killed him. this is why it's so important to eat PRE-SLICED bagels, people!

anyhow, i'm off track here. what made me mention poe was this article. here's the guts of the article:

For 56 years, someone has marked the writer's birthday by slinking into the small cemetery where Poe is buried to place French cognac and three roses on his grave in the middle of the night.

when i die, i hope that somebody marks my grave on my birthday. not someone that i knew while alive, because i'd frankly expect that (especially out of YOU), but years later, after everyone who knew me is long dead, i want some swedish man in a hooded cloak to trek to my grave and leave behind a pile of pez dispensers, a cheese wheel, and a martini glass. the martini glass should be empty; i don't want to encourage drinking among the cemetery keepers.

i guess the man doesn't have to be swedish. he could be a native of austin, tx perhaps. he could be russian or korean. i don't care. i just want the pile of pez dispensers, the cheese wheel, and the martini glass- every year. and i want anyone who steals that pile of pez dispensers, that cheese wheel, and that martini glass to befall an awful tragedy, such as having their foot crack off and float away into the sewer system. frankly, it's not nice to take things that don't belong to you, even if you really want them.