I, James Michael Mastros, holding social security number 168-66-1003 (if there was some confusion as to what James Mastros I was), do declare that, being of sound mind and body or close enough for government work, that this is my Last Will and Testmate. This document is to supercede all former documents that claim to be such. If any exist, they are false; this is the first such document I have written. Note that text in italics are not to be taken as normative nor legaly binding. If there is some confusion as to the meaning of non-italicised text, then the italicised text may be taken as proof of intent. Items such as this, that is.

A copy of this document, which should produce output identical in text to the version that is printed and sigend should be found at http://www.rtweb.net/theorb/will.html, and a signature produced with PGP v5.0i should be found at http://www.rtweb.net/theorb/will.asc. The signature should be checked relitive to my public key, which can be found registered to "James M. Mastros <james@rtweb.net>" on the public key-servers, or on the public keyring on root's account on jenner, should he still exist. If the document or the signature cannot be found, or the two do not agree, then be very careful. Note that the HTML version, though to the best of my knowlage normatavly identical, is not non-normativly identical; some things are double-italicised. Note that I belive the chances that I made some stupid mistake in this process are probably higher then the probabability that someone falsified some version of this document; it isn't worth it. Be not overcareful.

This document is being written the third Monday of April in 1999 AD, and should take effect immedatly.

I name my father, Michael R. Mastros, as the executor of this will. If the person named as executor is dead or otherwise unavailable, then the person named as executor of their will will be executor of this will, and so on recrusivly.

Let us begin.

To Mark Andrew Rebert I give my trenchcoat (a size 38 long navy blue London Fog, marked "Boyd" on the tag.) To Luke Gammache, Nahn Trahn, Matthew Warner, Tim Turner (if he can be found), and the girl who we once knew in a tree-stump in Brecht (if she can be found), I give my hats, to share amongst them as they see fit. To Sara Mastros, I give the leather bracelet stamped "JAMES" that she once made me. To Terry Lee, I shall give him all implements of writing and books of wisdom that can be said to be mine. To Donna Simmons, I would give you only what you already have, my stone. Into that stone went much of the pain you caused me, but much of the joy as well.

For Andrew Webb, I bid you do this: If you can find in my backpack a red plastic knife, use it. If you cannot, use another such knife. Break the knife in half, and give it to him with a pen. And give him these words: "The pen is mighter then the sword. Revolutions fought with swords and not words may be won, but they are won for naught and stay not long won." To Nate Ginter, give a pillow and a plastic crown or other such cheap nock-off of a marker of monarchy.

To Bradford Hovinen, give my entire collection of 5.25 inch floppy disketts with the following note: "One of these floppies, if I recall correctly, contains a live sample of Michalengo. It isn't ment for you; I'm not one to be vindictive. I think it's a CMOS setup disk. If you find it, please do not clean it, but rather give it to Webb."

To Mark Herr, Keith Greneawalt, and Richard Alexander Starhiski, to be shared amongst them as they see fit, give... I'm not sure what to give you guys. I'm certian you'll figure out somthing.

To Jen Kowlski, give all clothing I own that is either bright and sunny or dark and goth. Also, give her a hug from me.

To Steve Fritzdixon, give my calculator and all physics-related material. And, if I am still in possession of it, give him Bitner's cape.

To Bitner, Steve, and Jen, yell "I have not forgotten the Snowflake with Depth! Or, for that matter, the Snowflake of Death!"

To Lauren Vida, Carolyn King, Amie Odman, et al, I instuct to give all drugs, prescription and otherwise, that I may own or posess, with the instructions (implicit everwhere, but explicit here) that if any part of this instruction is held to be illegal then that portion shall be taken as if italicised. Sorry guys, it seems fitting. Yeha, you'll probably be gyped. Yes, Mrs. Becker, that did begin it's life as a racial epethat. Sometimes, swearing really is the best way to express somthing. Anyway, I'm dead, so lay off.

To big-brown-eyes, if she can be identified, tell her I said "Sorry I never got my courage up to ask you for your number, but if you'd do me the honor of showing up at my funeral, I'd be much obliged". Then laugh; there is nothing else to do after such a statement. And give her a mirror; it is the most beutiful thing I could give her. (On second though, don't, unless she shows up without being explicitly invited; I wish least of all to cause her undue pain.)

To my little cousin Leha Rose Heart, by way of my Ant Linda, I give all the toys I have accumluated.

I'm certian that there's still people important to me that I'm missing. I'm sorry, and it's nothing personal. To you each, those who have been named above, I have given you that which seems approprate, in may cases an object that held a part of my soul during the time that I called you "friend". Remember me.

OK, there ends the first part of this will.

All my liquid assets, including cash and money in bank accouns, I give to RightTime, care of Mark. Consider it the investment I always should have made. The principal can only be used to cover expenses during the first two years; after that it can be used as you see fit. If the busness should fold within the first two years, the principal will be donated to the ACLU; you don't get it, Mark. Consider it an incentive.

Arangements for the funeral and such I leave to Sara and Mark. Include as may traditions as seems reasonable. I ask only that if some pratice precludes others, then include none of those _purticular_ pratices (but not the entire ceromony of that tradition). All who wish should be free to attend.

With me ends the line of Mastros. Let not with me lie the line of "James" and "Michael". To the first child of the blood of one mentioned in this will or in attendance at my funeral, I give the birthright of my first born son: he shall be the seventh in the line of first sons of first sons.

I ask also, that you solicit stories of my life. Let no story given be removed; if you dought its voracity, note so. If you belive it to be poorly written, work with the author to correct it's shorcomings. Then, when all of my story that may be told has been, publish it. I don't ask for anything as expensive as a book; a web page will be fine.

If a name is not given in full, for example as simply "Mark", it can be assumed to belong to someone mentioned elsewhere in this document. If only one such person can be found, it should be taken to refer to them unconditionaly. If more then one such person is mentioned within this document, then the conflict will be resolved by my sister, Sara Leanne Mastros. If she is not available, then Mark Andrew Rebert comes next. If neither of them are available, then the first matching name found in this document will be considered to be the person in question. If no person matching a name given in this document and seems applicable to the executor, then Sara or Mark will find the person to whom the name seems to apply. If all reasonable efforts fail, then the name, and all statments refering to them shall be taken as if italicesed. This entire convoluted paragraph is written to try to cope with my problems with names. With a spot of luck, it won't apply at all.

I leave it to the executor of this will to distribute all unmentioned assets of mine.