Some real-life newspaper obituaries written by the loved ones (and not-so-loved ones) of the dearly (and not-so-dearly) departed.
“William Donaldson, who died on June 22 aged 70, was described as ‘an old Wykehamist who ended up as a moderately successful Chelsea pimp,’ which was true, though he was also a failed theatrical impresario, a crack-smoking serial adulterer, and a writer of autobiographical novels.”
—Daily Telegraph (U.K.)
“Dolores Aguilar, born in 1929 in New Mexico, left us on August 7, 2008. Dolores had no hobbies, made no contribution to society, and rarely shared a kind word or deed in her life. I speak for the majority of her family when I say her presence will not be missed by many, very few tears will be shed, and there will be no lamenting over her passing. There will be no service, no prayers, and no closure for the family she spent a lifetime tearing apart.”
—Vallejo Times-Herald (New Mexico)
“Jim Adams, 53, tired of reading obituaries noting others’ courageous battles with this or that disease, wanted it known that he lost his battle as a result of simply being stubborn and not following doctor’s orders. He was sadly deprived of his final wish, which was to be run over by a beer truck on the way to the liquor store to buy booze for a date. He loved to hear and tell jokes and spin tales of grand adventures he may or may not have had. In lieu of flowers, he asks that you make a sizeable purchase at your favorite watering hole, get rip-roaring drunk, and tell the stories he no longer can.”
—Casper Star-Tribune (Wyoming)
“Dorothy Gibson Cully, 86, died peacefully, while in the loving care of her two favorite children, Barbara and David. At the time of her death, Dot’s daughter Carol and Carol’s husband, Ron, were attending a ‘very important conference’ at a posh Florida resort. After learning of the death, they rushed home 10 days later. Dot’s other children—dutifully at their mother’s side helping with the funeral parlor notice, the hospice notification, revising the last will, etc.—happily picked up the considerable slack of the absent former heiress. Contributions to the hospice are welcomed. Opinions about this obit are not.”
—Raleigh News & Observer (North Carolina)
China’s Internet censors are so strict that World of Warcraft had to put skin on the game’s skeletons.
“Sally Baron, age 71, of Stoughton, died Monday, Aug. 18, 2003. She took care of her family, especially Slugger, who got around better than he should have after a debilitating mining accident in 1969. Memorials in her honor can be made to any organization working for the removal of President Bush.”
—Capital Times (Wisconsin)
“Roosevelt Conway passed away April 2, 2005. In 1966 he came to Los Angeles, where he met and fell in love with his wife, Pee Wee. She’s a damn good mother who was faithful and devoted to her man, ‘too devoted.’ She got a wake-up call. They parted. She never went back. But she never stopped caring and doing good things for him. Like now, he didn’t have an insurance policy. But Pee Wee made it possible. She made sure he is having a good proper burial service right now. She will help anyone long as they are not playing games. It’s time for people to start giving back to her and stop calling on her so much.”
—from a memorial-service brochure, Inglewood, CA
“Patrick Pakenham, 68, was a talented barrister and the second son of the 7th Earl and Countess of Longford; but his boisterous nature and bouts of mental illness rendered it impossible for him to sustain his position at the Bar, and he retired after 10 years’ practice. During his appearance before an irascible and unpopular judge in a drugs case, the evidence, a bag of cannabis, was produced. The judge, considering himself an expert on the subject, said to Pakenham, with whom he had clashed during the case: ‘Come on, hand the exhibit up to me quickly.’ Then he proceeded to open the package. Inserting the contents in his mouth, he chewed it and announced: ‘Yes, yes of course that is cannabis. Where was the substance found, Mr. Pakenham?’ The reply came swiftly, if inaccurately: ‘In the defendant’s anus, my Lord.’”
—Daily Telegraph (U.K.)
Happiest profession, according to happiness polls: priests. Least happy: gas station attendants.