I'll bet you could write a script that would blog your epitaph after you died and stopped posting

My friend Cat just bought me an espresso and wrote to say:

I thought you would be extremely amused to know that I originally read the list of your previous Blog post titles:

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crime and punishment
I'm actually live-blogging from Schaffer the Darklord's show
The Smut Show, at which Molly Crabapple was my merch girl
70's porno-funk music being played by men from Mars
accompanied by a photo of an old man dancing for his Alzheimers-stricken wife
can you guess what my word of the day is?
a little belated, but my bedroom is covered in magazines
The Strand is the shizzle dizzle.
spelling is so dreamy!
corporate lovesexy
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as one rather avant-garde poem. Hee hee.

This reminds me of the time I was in Screenwriting I in college, and everyone had to write a ten-page short screenplay, and then we were going to vote on which script the class would produce. I wrote a script about a homeless guy who stands on the Dartmouth green and asks everyone what time it is, even though he's standing right under a giant clock tower. (Of course, he just wanted to talk, and most passersby didn't have time for him).

After reading my piece, someone said "I don't get it." Other class members nodded.

In a flash of desperate inspiration (I really wanted this thing to get made), I said "Oh, I forgot to tell you it's an adaptation of Waiting for Godot!"

Someone said "Oh!" And then, based on, I think, everyone else's desire not to seem like they were the only ones who hadn't read or didn't get Godot, they all voted for it.

I wonder if I could pass this off as a real poem by claiming it's a takeoff on, say, Spoon River Anthology, updated for these modern blogging times.