Passages

"Don't Mind Me" (sometime during the Great Depression) - 2010

2010-02-05T16:13:00.000-08:00

No, no I'm fine.

You don't have to do anything for me, sweetie; I'm just glad you're here. It's so nice when we- as a family- have this together time because you just don't know how many more of these we're going to have, you know?

No, no I'm not trying to make you feel bad. I don't know why you always say that all the time. It's just that I'm a little...A little...Oww...

No. No! It's okay. I'll be fine.

(She wasn't.)

Jason Vadge, 1978-2009

2009-12-09T15:02:00.000-08:00

It is with great sorrow in our hearts that we announce the passing of Jason Vadge, a local naturopathic physician. This period of mourning is alleviated somewhat by the memory of his kind and gentle soul, and the knowledge that he will be remembered fondly by his many friends and patients.

He was a born healer. He had "magic hands", and would begin most conversations by letting people know this fact about him. He so wanted to give his gift to others that he risked embarrassment and social exclusion because of it. He had a gift.

When first graduated from high school, his dream was to be a clown, and bring laughter to children. But soon he saw what so many of his generation did: the wisdom of Eastern Medicine.

After paying his tuition to the School of Basic Learning Instruction, he quickly embarked upon a course of study that made him so very, very proud. In those days, any of the local nightclubs would have sported Jason, fresh from hitting the books, and talking about the new things he had learned.

For instance, one time he talked to a girl for one half hour about how The Chinese thought that you shouldn't keep certain fluids in your bodies, and how he had learned a special technique employing an herbal oil to get those toxic fluids out. She listened, and nodded enthusiastically.

Later on, graduated now from second education, he purchased a modern home, but modestly not boasting about his worldly accomplishments, being a Buddhist, and still just starting out in the practice of medicine. He allowed himself one indulgence: his hot tub.

One time when we were all sitting in the hot tub with him, he said, with that irresistible grin on his face, that maybe we all should have showered first, before getting into his tub. Because our "bodily oils (were) accumulating," and maybe before it got any worse, we should all pile into the shower together, as one, because it would be "healing." We all laughed at his joke.

When his business partner, Larry Schleuter, got married to his current wife, Jason gave the celebratory toast. He commented upon the seeming perfection of their union, and how very lucky Larry was. He also said further that the bride "was really getting (him) hot," and how he couldn't wait for the couple to come over and share "a hot tub" with him, and (Michelle) "in a bikini." The crowd laughed at his joke.

He often spoke of the sadness that was caused in him by so many people who were unable to "physically share". He attributed this to our Puritan origins as a nation, and felt sorry for those souls who had not yet transcended our national shame issues. He wanted us all to know that he was "open," and "available" for whatever any of us needed, at all times. He was a good friend.

It was with shame-free openness and honesty that he announced, somewhat unexpectedly after years of all of our knowing him, that he was Bisexual. With that boyish smile and warmth of compassion and sharing, we knew that this, perhaps, was finally what maybe would get him the "soul partner" he'd been seeking, so far unsuccessfully, all those many years. He tended to introduce himself by saying that he was Bisexual, and Polyamourous. Then he would stand there and smile as he was regarded, silently, by those respectful members of our community.

It was a feeling of needing to "give back" to the community that nurtured him that drove him to coaching Little League. Underneath it all, Jason was still just an "all-American boy"! And oh what a season! He gave, and gave some more! Without a clear designated hitter, he began to to tutor Brandon, son of Steve Teague, a local car dealer, in the finer points of the great American pastime.

The details of his death remain unclear. What could have transposed that night at the Pop A Top on Long Road is anybody's guess. Why anyone could ever have any violent feelings toward this calm, serene, enlightened and kind man is a giant mystery. While some rush to say it may have been the act of Bigoted individuals, there is just as much possibility that the entire thing was predicated on nothing more than just a big misunderstanding.

Gugglebaaack!!! (Before Time)-this Xmas

2009-12-01T16:39:00.000-08:00

(by Jaden Keene, his closest human friend, and Special Boy)

I still, I still can't believe-GUGGLEBAAACK!!! NOOO! I can't believe he's gone! The greatest of all the Star Lords, and staunchest enemy of all the Transgressorobots, he's...Gone, I can't believe he's gonnne !!!

Born to a gang of Cosmotolodrots in the Septi Bar-None system, he found a master star race of star warriors! The Star Lords! They became Space Champions of the UltraBotVerse! They came to bring light to a little known planet...Named 'Earth'!

But along the way, they encountered a vile legion of Space Villains named the Transgressorobots, who hated the Star Lords, and laughed evilly at Mankind's Civilization! They wished doom on mankind, and if only for the Star Lords, we were held in waiting for armageddon! Then- on a dark and dreadful day, he encountered his nemesis, the evil intergalactic demon, Teledress!

TELLL-E-DRESSS!!!

Ah, ha- it is I! Teledress, of the Trangressorobots! You Earth-weak-lings are DOOOMED! I thought that mayyybeee that Space Fool, Guggleback, might give you some false hope, but we flushed him into ultero-space, from which he will never return, as far as anyone knows! Prepare to serve your new temporal masters- WE, THE TRANSGRESSOROBOTS!

When we found him, at the Lost Thrones of Khaleamotee, he wept like a slovenly Space Woman, and begged for mercy! HE FOUND NONE!

Wait a minute: if, as you say, you met him at the Lost Thrones, then that means...GUGGLEBAAACK! There's no way you could have killed him, you douche! When surrounded by the ancient and magestical Thrones, he was unkillable! So that means there's hope! GUGGLEBAAACK! It's JA-DEN! I'M HEEERE!

What have you done with him? What have you done with Guggleback? I'll get you for this! I'll get all of you, and you'll see! You can't kill the special love that lives between a Star Lord and his Special Boy!

When all the Earth people hear that their lord and defender lives, they'll rise up against you and your evil plans! They'll join forces with Guggleback! And the Star Lords! They hate you! You stink! And that'll teach you to mess with New York City, too! Haven't we been through enough lately?

So just take a hike, Tele-douche! It's payback time!

(sigh...) Okay, look Caden, or whatever your stupid name is: he wasn't your real dad, okay? That dubious title is held by one Ernie Blastock of 522 North Overcourt, and is really wondering where the hell you are.

And look; I'll say it, okay? Everybody knows, alright? I think it pretty much fools no one at all, his lengthy training courses in "space telegraphy" or whatever were both expensive and sounded a hell of a lot like something some pedophile Den Father of the Space Scouts would come up with. I think maybe instead of being mad at me, you should be looking into filing charges.

Uh...No. NOOO!!! You don't fool me, Teledress! Your Space Lies are too little for the thing we have! It's a thing you can't kill with your laser rays and gamma beams! He's gonna come back! He's gonna make it! He's gonna...GUGGLE-BAAACCCKKK!!!

I...Teledress? Do you need a Special Boy?

(etc. etc.)

ChillDude420 (sometime probably in the early '70's)- 2009

2009-11-08T11:17:00.000-08:00

(Editor's note: As little to nothing is known of the decedent, we were forced to piece together what we could from a local dating service's website. We hope that we have assembled a dignified and respectful portrait of a figure in the local community. -Rear Admiral Dick Wheeler, U.S.N. [Ret.] )

A local man, known for his laid-back attitude and commitment to rocking, has passed on. His interests included music and hanging out.

If you were planning on chilling with him, you needed to like dogs. If not, though, that was cool too. He liked girls with tattoos and (unspecified length) hair.

His religious beliefs were "spiritual". His political ideology was "they're all stupid". He thought the best thing ever was the one time he "punked" his friend. It was awesome.

Once, he went sky-diving. He had previously said he would never do it, but then, one day, he just went for it, you know? He remained convinced to his dying day (presumably) that it changed his life.

His personal motto was, "I like live music at the bar sometimes, movies at the theater, traveling, playing some video games, camping, spending time with family and friends, beer pong, relaxing at home, and just doing what ever at the moment." He was also not interested in "fatties".

When asked to describe himself, he replied, "6 in. uncut, HWP, d&d free, Friendship.........................................More?" He also listed "cuddling" as an associated interest.

While he described his desires as "strictly platonic" (or at least that is how they were categorized), he also expressed his need to "pleasure you...big pussy lips or clit". He owned his own car. He "could host."

The circumstances of his death are somewhat unclear. It is known that his body was found at the end of Memorial Beach, early Saturday morning. It would seem that the last thing he ever did was take a long walk on the beach, under the stars; activities he was reputed to enjoy.

Melanie Brasnzynsky, 1967-2009

2009-09-21T15:34:00.000-07:00

After years of worrying about it, it finally happened. There. Satisfied?

No? Didn't she always tell you though? How you'd better look out? How you just can't trust those people? How these days, you just never can tell, can you? No, no you can't.

She always thought the rest of you looked pretty stupid, going about your lives and having fun, when she was the only one who took all this seriously, and was trying to help you, make it better, be safer! But all you would do is say, 'Jeez, Melanie, can't you just lighten up?'

No, no she couldn't. She was try-ing to see to it that everybody got home alive, thank you very much! That's why she kept flinching and doing these little terrified shrieks when you were driving. To help you! YOU'RE WELCOME!

When the rest of you kept on getting up on rocks and climbing trees in the Goddamned forest, she'd stand there with her arms crossed, shaking her head. She knew, okay? You're just being immature!

No one could see germs like Melanie! There never was a mess made that was so small that she wouldn't immediately be all over it, scrubbing and buffing and cursing up a storm about how she was the only one that ever did anything around here, and maybe it was time for a little gratitude, goddammit!

You don't take off your clothes around a bunch of strangers and just go sit in a damned hot tub with them; that's how you get germs! I should know, goddammit -I'm a Practical Nurse! If you think I'm gonna put my goddamn feet in that athlete's foot pit you like to call a Curves (tm) gym, you've got another think coming, my good friend! I know all about those places!

Stairs? Too steep! Ladders? Too likely to fall over! Old people? Hip breakers! Babies? Two words: crib death. Renting? Oh great! You wanna lose all your stuff in a fire? Owning? Fore-clo-surrre...

Americans are too loud, fat and stupid, but Europeans are always eating fly poop on their cheese! Asians just think they're better than us, don't they? Smart little fuckers! And Africans? The AIDS...

So it's sort of amazing, when you think about it. How she thought she had all the angles covered, but then was ultimately done in by a combination of an anvil, of all things, falling on her (it was clearly marked 'ANVIL', on the side), followed by a piano, from somewhere, landing on top of that, and topped off by an elephant that hit the pile with a resounding thud, who then shrugged his shoulders and said, "Eh, it's a living!" Just goes to show; you never can tell.

The Ebberlyn Convention Center and Plaza Pavilion, 1989-2009

2009-08-24T12:43:00.000-07:00

It is with regret that we must announce the death of a good friend and resource for gatherings of all sorts; the Ebberlyn Convention Center and Plaza Pavilion.

It would have gladly hosted your next corporate retreat, sponsored event, sales presentation, wedding or memorial service. Your small touring live music provider, your exhibition of lawn and garden products -any of these could have been handled with ease and professionalism.

And parking? Well, yes, there was some places to park...Some...

The onsite dining providers had many tasty, affordable options! You could have had a juicy twelve-ounce rib steak at SteakFever (Si Habla SteakFever!) (tm), you could have gotten your wacky fun-time on at Pinche and Lefty's Family House Grill Arcade! Ethnic Foods such as AppeThaiZing and Los Mexicanos would have fed your family and not taken you to the cleaners! After eating food that good, you'd forget all about the parking thing, and we're real sorry about that.

With the wide variety of options available to you and your organization, it's difficult to see why you didn't just go ahead and book yourself a slot in our wide open time-calendar! After the American Brotherhood of Toastermakers pulled out of the coveted July spot, you could have hopped right in here. We had a full-time staff of IT and AV people to help you with all your presentation needs...Even do your PowerPoint (tm) presentation for you if you wanted! Why, in the name of God, didn't you call? You could have taken a tour bus! That way you wouldn't have to park all your employees...Cars, and...

Sometimes while lost, wandering its back hallways and service corridors, I could hear it weeping. Moaning. It was like if it could talk it would have said, but I'm so spacious and affordable...Located am I near to the big convention hotels! With the downtown and historical beer n' smokes district right nearby, you could just walk to 'em! WHY TO NO LOVE OF ME?

Yes, Lady Ebberlyn, maybe you were just too beautiful for this world. Perhaps they just could not see...Maybe- oh, but I am an old and sentimental fool...Surely there's nobody who would wish to come in and turn this place into a giant liquidation warehouse, or buy you, level you and turn you into some much-needed parking structure...What's that? What do I hear? Is that the sound of responsible business perking up its always-attentive ears? Yes!

Ladies and Gentlemen, I'd like to announce the birth of the largest Adult Entertainment Multi-Media Center and Gentlemen's Club! Jack's Shaque at Ebberlyn Centre (tm)! The Good Times are here yet again! Make sure to arrive early; it's really hard to find parking around here!

Liam S. "Crazy Ozzie" McLeish 1953-2009

2009-08-12T13:51:00.001-07:00

"OY! ISSA DINKY DIE FER OZZIE!" -Liam McLeish

With this as his epitaph, we close the final chapter in the history of this fine man. Father of four, devoted husband, renowned scholar, ikebana enthusiast and businessman whose prices were so low, there must have been something wrong with him.

Well, as we all know now, there was something wrong with him. If only someone had said something.

In the early days, while still at university in Melbourne, Liam distinguished himself as the premier interpreter of early Aramaic literature, as well as being the glue that held the Applied Pneumatics department together. This double threat emerged in an academic community desperately calling out for his brand of scholasticism and philosophy (his remarks on Schopenhauer are not without interest).

For a while, he made his way in a world glad to have him. The cracks in the edifice began to appear following a Profound Depth Exploration (diving in an underground lake that lay beneath the ocean floor), where the following sort of exchange between Liam and his peers became all too common.

Dr. McLeish; was heartened and pleased to receive your recent missive on Xenophon's 'History...' Found your contention that the modern term "xeno-phobia" had actual valid ties to both the element xenon and the descendents of Xenophon himself (difficult to locate, to say the least), leading ultimately to a Unified Field Theory in which Everything is everything, as Dr. Hill is quoted as saying...

and 'Ozzie' wrote back:

OY! IF YOU CAN FIND BARGAIN VALUES LIKE THIS ANYWHERE ELSE, I'LL KILL A DINGO! IF YOU REFUSE TO COME ON DOWN AND TAKE A LOOKAROUND, I'LL PUT YOU IN STIR FOR SPOUSAL ABUSE! YOU HAVEN'T SEEN ANYTHING LIKE THIS IN THE BIG DEPARTMENT STORES! PUT A HAT ON ME AND CALL ME MATILDA! YOU'LL KNOW AT LAST THAT THERE'S NO DEAL LIKE AN OZZIE DEAL!

At first, Dr. McLeish's colleagues thought he might just be engaging in semiotics. Indulging in some post-structural cultural critique; what have you. But despite the fact that he had attended university in Australia, and had one of those names that more or less distinguishes one as being a subject of the Crown, he was from Dubuque, just like you and me: he wasn't Australian.

However, this thing he had become had attracted the attention of Seamus "Smitty" Smith, an actual Australian and a true asshole.

Because of his controversial remarks at the 2004 symposium on Applied Synergetics and Industrial Friction management (he just stood up there at the podium, throwing down hundred dollar bills in a tight stack and saying, "ONE 'UNDRED, TWO 'UNDRED -I AIN'T FINISHED YET! THREE HUNDRED, FOUR 'UNDRED DOLLAZZZ!"), he was asked to leave the Academy. If this caused him any personal anguish, it was lost under the above-board bravado he displayed, saying at the time;
"IF THERE'S A STAIN YOU CAN'T REMOVE, THIS SHAMMY RAG YOU MUST APPROVE! WIF' ALL THE MESSES AND ALL THE HATE, YOU'VE GOT SOME BLOTCHES, IS MY HUNCH, MATE!" after which he offered to get rid of the toughest of stains, with the new Now It Is Chamois (tm) combination towel and cleanser.

Shortly thereafter, "Smitty" Smith met Liam in a local pub and bought him several rum n' cokes. And then he went too far. Beyond here, it was plane rides to Jakarta to meet shady men in fezzes. "Ozzie" hawked their substandard products, glad to do so.
Then the team made for Burbank, and the apotheosis of all dreams.

Forced, in his impaired mental state, to advertise for a product called "Zeeeert!", Ozzie developed an intoxicating pitch that led the American buying public -always suckers for an Aussie- to endless devotion. He also developed a noticeable lump on his upper right forehead, up near the hairline. To all who would notice, this was ominous.

Before long, people were inviting him to events. In his sensible black chambray work shirt, he seemed the picture of colonial thrift. He seemed to embody all that was brash and exploratory in the liberal agenda, as well as all that was shouting and under-analytical in the conservative. People loved him, and he at least appeared to like people.

But this too was difficult to say. When approached by adoring fans who loved him and would gladly take a bullet for any of his products, they would say things like, "I'm so excited to finally meet you, Ozzie," and he'd say something like;

"WHEN THE LIGHT IS GREEN, THE TRAP IS CLEAN! THERE'S NO MORE WORRY WITH THE NOWORRY (tm) BRAND FAMILY OF PRODUCTS! WE ARE TO YOU AS IS THE MOTHER TO THE MAN! AN ENDLESS SOURCE OF WARMTH AND ENTHUSIASM! YOU CAN'T BUY THIS KIND OF THING WITH YOUR CHILDREN'S BLOOD! TRUST ME; I'VE TRIED!"

At which point the generally well-meaning public would scamper away.

His highly enthusiastic sales pitches for Honky's (tm) chain of family fast-food restaurants, Gringo's (tm) brand of fried corn chip, the Hello Telephone (ltd) line of Japanese products kept him in a more or less constant state of travel. Smitty often propped up his "man" with speed, both for endurance of the long hours as well as Liam's well-documented fear of flying.
But it was in the valley of industrial solvents and putties that Ozzie finally crossed his Rubicon.

The Drastic Action (R) family of products beckoned. When spilling a seemingly-uncleansible blood and semen stain onto a pristine dun-colored carpet, he maintained the endless shit-eating grin that suggested endless loyalty of brand consciousness plus a man who desperately wanted to be loved.
Nodding nervously, that same smile seemed to harden into a death rictus.

Before long, his more or less open insanity became a liability with advertisers. He was more or less unable to get more commercial gigs.
With the profits he'd made, he purchased a chain of retail outlets, which he called Crazy Ozzie's.

The commercials tell a story. Sitting behind a squalid counter, surrounded by inventory that looks like it's about to fall over and crush Ozzie, he is barking at the camera:
"YOU MUST COME DOWN HERE AND TALK TO ME! I'M CRAZY! I'VE HONESTLY LOST MY EVER-LOVIN' MIND! WITH PRICES THIS LOW, YOU'LL HAVE ALL THE MORE REASON TO STAND HERE AND LISTEN TO WHAT I HAVE TO SAY! YOU'VE GOT TO! PLEEEASE! WOOFERS! TWEETERS! ONLY FOUR-NINETY NINE! IF YOU'VE SHOPPED AROUND, YOU'LL BE GLAD YOU FOUND! OZZIE OZZIE OZZIE! IF YOU CAN'T BELIEVE IT, THAT MEANS IT'S NOT REAL!"

And it was clear that this was all actually a cry for help. With prices that low, he must have been crazy.

Smitty came back, and said he'd found some product that actually wanted Ozzie to be its pitchman. And it was necessary to fly commercial air to get there. Despite how wretched his mouthpiece had become, Smitty forced him onto a plane, whereupon they went to Laughlin, Nevada to examine whatever the hell the thing was they'd be selling.
When the plane hit the tarmac, an overhead luggage compartment burst open, dumping an overnight bag onto Ozzie's head. The lump on his forehead began to bleed, but Ozzie just kept on smiling that crazy grin of his.

He stood there on the stairs leading to the terminal, blood streaming down his face, hands in place as if holding a product, saying, "SHUT YOUR WHORE MOUTH! THIS IS CRAZY OZZIE, AND I'M HERE TO TELL YOU ABOUT THE SPECIAL LOVE THAT EXISTS BETWEEN A MAN AND HIS RASH! THE TERMINATOR! THE CRUSHER! THE-" and then he lost consciousness, never to regain it.

Seamus "Smitty" Smith's whereabouts remain unknown.

S. Tom "Red" Tubbler, 1912-2009

2009-06-24T12:02:00.000-07:00

Wall boys, ah shore am glad t' be standin' up here in front o' y'all t'day! Those ladies back there n' the kitchin' shore can throw out a fine spread, cain't they? Let's have a big hand for them gals!

I heard one time from a fella I once met that there ain't no kinda barrel like a cracker barrel, and I believe that just may be what brings us all here t'gither t'day! We're just sittin' around here a-whittlin' and a-talkin', and jist no kinda fuss is gonna be made a-bout it! Putcher feet up on th' pickle barrel, pass thet whiskey bottle 'round. No one gon' see it; it's inna pay-per baaag!

I'll never f'rgit th' one time back up in 1931, when I come up all hell bent fer election over that dad-blasted Cabbage Hill down outta Poverty Flats and inta thuh...Inta thuh Pennelt'n there. I had just got caught in a dust n' rainstorm, and I walked inta the newspaper office there in my duster n' Stetson hat, all drippin' and droopy, makin' a puddle on the floor! The man at the desk looks at me and laughs, sez; "I knew if I sat here long enough, I'd see this day!" Then we laughed about it, and he let me marry his daughter!

Where was I? Oh, right: God! He come to me one night in m'sleep, and he taught me how to frame plywood! Joined unions, 'came a journeyman, involved in local organizations n' so-cial functions! Slapped t'gither th' Woodsman of the World headquarters n' exhibition pavilion, and walked a hundred miles!

Later, when the movies come t' town, I set myself up as a stuntman for Tom Mix's horse! Later, after his head was pulverized by the Death Suitcase, I was legal-guardian-in-waiting for his wife! Then the communists came, and we wuz' all outta a job!

I was the first man in the county to build a house on the lake, and I was married to my wife! My children? They're all in there! One of 'em grew up to ride that horse! He jus' looked at me and shook his head, tied 'im to a stick, threw it down a well!

Like any king hell bullshitter'll tell ya', you're only worth your last best story, and that's why I come here to tell you how you really need to drive a Pontiac today! Believe me folks; it really is more car for less money! Or take Greyhound Bus Lines, and let death take another holiday! Good night! God bless!

Peter Aaronson, 1947-2009

2009-06-24T11:26:00.001-07:00

Crony, toady, pogy, lickspittle.
Apple-polisher, follower, hanger-on, backslapper, well-wisher.
Empty suit, coat holder, guy-we-kept-around-to-empty-the-ashtrays, "associate", errand boy.

These are just some of the ways we will remember Peter Aaronson.

With his omnipresent, ingratiating smile and looking around nervously to see how everyone else was reacting, he spent many undistinguished years doing whatever the hell it was he did for a living.

Raised in some podunk jerkwater somewhere out in the toolies, he got out of there the minute he finished high school, and then spent the rest of his life talking about how lucky he was to be born and raised in such a fine setting. What a strong moral grounding it gave him. Then he spent the rest of his life with his tongue up some mid-level supervisor's ass.

For the record, all the more specific he ever got about it was, "I'm employed by a private fiduciary concern." Jesus. Look, if you can't describe what it actually is, it's illegal. Or at very least, you don't talk that way about things that you're proud of.

He went to college in some bucolic, stagnant backwater and got a degree in 'Business'. Oh, bravo. Now here's a guy with some fresh ideas! Hey guys; here's this other guy who wants to do things for money! You think we oughta hire him? I mean, he doesn't actually do anything, and says he wants to come in here and sit at a desk, make money off of actual work being done by lesser-paid Others Elsewhere! I like the cut of his jib!

Making himself essential to the mysterious workings of the Managerial Class, this nonetheless introduced him to pretty much nobody interesting at all. He met other men and women just like him in his travels, which were, paradoxically, constant. There wasn't a Residence Inn (tm) that didn't see ol' Pete at one time or another!

When he was called upon for his ideas, there would be that reliable nervous chuckling he constantly emitted. Because he had none. This would be the case with everybody else up there in the Brain Trust; they had been talking to and surrounded only by other people just like them for too long. No amount of corporate seminars regarding 'thinking outside the box' were ever going to change that.

He married a woman that worked for the same company. She worked in another state though, because this company, despite having no noticeable reason to be, had offices in every state in the continental U.S., and in five countries overseas. Their union was noted with approval by the company, who then pooled their modest 401 Ks and health benefits.

They lived in a neighborhood that...Oh god, I can't do it. It's just too goddamn depressing.

He never met a stranger. By that I don't mean "...just a friend he hadn't made yet." I mean "he was terrified of people he didn't already know." Kinda hated 'em, actually.

Y'ever meet a guy like this (and of course you have; they're everywhere) and think, "Now there's someone who's going to climb up in a clock tower one of these days with a high powered rifle and start taking people out"? Well, you wouldn't be too far off the mark with Peter, except substitute 'congestive heart failure', and you'd be there.

Remembrances to...Whatever. Leave me alone.

-His Wife, employee # 48682976

Your Mom ?-?

2009-06-21T10:02:00.000-07:00

Your Mom, after battling for many years with being so damn greasy she used bacon as a band-aid, has died. She was...Old.

In fact, she was so damn old that her Social Security Number was 1. In Roman Numerals. She was told to act her own age, and she died.

Damn, she was stupid. She was so damn stupid, it took her two hours to watch '60 Minutes'. One time when you told her it was chilly outside, she ran out there with a goddamn spoon.

It's true that her weight certainly contributed to her poor health. She was so damn fat, she ate Wheat Thicks. She'd go to a restaurant, look at the menu and go, "Okay!" She fell in love and broke it. We're standing in her right now.

But it's true that she was unique from an early age, and was born into challenging circumstances. For instance, the wooden leg with a kickstand certainly couldn't have helped. Neither did the glass eye with a fish in it. Ten fingers -all on the same hand- and missing so many teeth, it looked like her tongue was in jail. The hair on her upper lip was so thick, she could braid it.

Poverty dogged her many days: her house was so small, you had to go outside to eat a large pizza. Instead of a car, she drove a peanut. She'd drive it on down to KFC to lick other people's fingers, or over to McDonald's to put a shake on layaway. One time I saw her kicking a can down the street. I asked what she was doing, and she said, "Moving."

I don't blame her though; her house was so dirty, you had to wipe your feet before going outside.

Possible causes of death include getting tangled up in a cordless phone, or having an arm chopped off and all the gravy running out. In any case, would you just get off your mom, please? I just did!

All Who Oppose Me (all my life - soon, I think)

2009-05-05T11:05:00.000-07:00

(Example Photo)

Yes, yes AT LAST! Victory shall be mine! It shall be swift, and it shall be TERRIBLE!
Skulls will grin lewdly from the door and post of every house of mine enemies, and the sea shall boil. My armies of stormtroopers and wrong-doers will be unleashed upon the unsuspecting world; the result: DOOM!

When, in the fullness of time, the day comes to pass that I take vengeance for all the manifold wrong done to me, bloodcurdling screams shall fill the air, and the cowardly lot who seek refuge will find no safe harbor! On this day, when the world knows the steely bite of my sword, a reckoning will be made, and I will stand triumphant. At this time, I shall laugh and laugh and laugh.

Fools! How did you think you would ever escape my wrath? For what purpose did you engage in your petty business and go about your meaningless lives? I suppose perhaps you thought I would forgive your myriad of slights and insults? YOU SUSPECTED WRONGLY, O SNICKERERS AND JUDGERS-OF-ME!

When the time came for you to invite me to the things that were my due, instead you chose to fail to issue any sort of invitation! It was as though you had not thought of me at all! I hung my head, rent my garments and gnashed my teeth. But soon, it shall be YOU who will be doing the gnashing!

I am the jury, and you, the condemned accused! Your punishment will be...Swift, and meted out! A stiff, stiff penalty! Oh, how you will lament and plead as you suffer! But I will give no quarter, as I sternly look upon you, remembering full well the torments you once gave me.

Like that one time? That wasn't funny. That really hurt me, and when you laughed, it just made it worse. How could you have been so thoughtless and mean? Well, NOW YOU'LL PAY! You fucked up, jack! I'm totally serious!

Shut up, all of you! You darken my days with your laughter and obviously having good times at my expense! And in my absence! My nighttimes are filled with lonely torment as I watch the television and brood darkly. But SOON, SOON THERE WILL BE A PAYING-UP OF THE BILL! I've been footing this one for too long!

I tried to give you my love, and my august approval of you. But would you listen, or even hear me? A thousand times NO! I just wanted to be friends, and occasionally share a non-sexual massage! Or just cuddle up for an afternoon nap! THAT'S ALL! And you said I was 'creepy' and 'unrealistic'! Well, the grim reality is now set to fall upon you all! You, yourselves will be...Creeping away to dark corners to escape the hard rain that's gonna fall! But you will fail in this endeavor, and have to face facts!

THIS ISN'T ABOUT YOU! IT'S ABOUT ME! I'M JUST ASKING FOR WHAT'S FAIR HERE! I SEE NO REASON WHY WE CAN'T HAVE A CIVIL DISCUSSION!

At the request of the deceased(s), there will be no service. Funerary arrangements by Kinky's Krematorium, 85568 Oak Harbor Lawn Drive. Remembrances to...The United Nations, I guess.

Innocent Bystander ?-a few minutes ago

2009-03-31T10:51:00.000-07:00

An area man (or possibly a tourist) known for being on an escalator in a mall and remembered for his presence in the wrong place at the wrong time, has died.

The cause was multiple gunshot wounds from several different firearms, coming from many different directions, fired by various men, good and bad.

The international jewel smugglers and arms dealers that contributed to the final moments of the victim were rushing away from a foiled attempt at a heist of some sort, trailed by a maverick cop who didn't play by the rules and his long-suffering sidekick/partner. In a lagging pursuit were a no-nonsense guy from the Bureau, and several hapless uniformed cops.

At this time, the victim was traveling alone down the escalator in the mall where this chase was heading. He had purchased nothing, or at least carried no bags. He was alone, or at least there was no one that stuck around after the shots started flying. He had spent the day being unnoticed, and was blandly being shuttled to his demise.

Abruptly running the wrong way UP the 'down' escalator, the international criminals encountered the victim mid way up, knocking him down almost long enough for interested passers-by to note the details of his face, but not quite. From the bottom of the escalators, the maverick cop started firing, unfortunately clipping the victim, who was trying to get up.

Noting that their escape was being hampered by hot lead from behind, they picked up the victim and used him as a human shield while firing over his shoulder. The rounds continued to pump into the victim's chest, possibly rendering him dead at this point.

"POLICE!" yelled the police, who took up tactical positions and also commenced firing, wounding (at least) the victim in the cranial region repeatedly, and the now-crouching international criminals, who responded by indiscriminately spraying the immediate area with small-arms fire, hoping to kill enough people to permit escape. During this fray, the maverick cop's long-suffering partner, who was one day from retirement, was mortally wounded.

At this point, the criminals were completely surrounded by law enforcement, who were firing at will at the victim, propped up like a grisly rag doll while the cowardly villains crouched behind him, occasionally taking pot shots. It seemed for a while there that the victim was being kept upright only by the overwhelming amount of bullets impacting him from so many directions, despite being quite dead.

The no-nonsense suit from the Bureau arrived unheralded at the top of the escalator (it remains a mystery how), and decided that enough was enough, dammit, upon which he produced a white phosphorus grenade, which he activated and tossed into the bleeding, quivering mass of flesh in the center of the escalator. A large explosion with resultant skin-clinging fire was the result, putting a final finish on what remained of the victim at this point, but allowing the international criminals to escape in the confusion, somehow, despite being badly wounded themselves.

The maverick cop was consoling his dying partner and cursing God at this time, the few surviving uniformed cops were running toward the exits, and the no-nonsense Bureau man threw down his riot helmet and yelled "DAMMIT!!!".

Remembrances of this immediately-forgotten man were unavailable, as at that point the story-arc moved into a subplot about the maverick cop's ballbreaking ex-wife being killed -and his adorable grade-school age daughter kidnapped- by the international criminals, leading to an exciting standoff at a recognizably famous national monument.

The Fabulous Techniques 1988(?)-2008

2009-01-29T15:42:00.001-08:00

Let the rockin' good times party people bow their heads in sorrow, and maybe tip a forty to the memory of these dead 'homies', The Fabulous Techniques. They've been 'knockin' 'em dead' for twenty years, and now...Well, they're with Elvis, Buddy Holly, Jim, Jimi and Janis in the big Rock n' Roll band in the sky!

Available for corporate events, celebrations of life, comings-of-age and civil unions, they played the kind of music that everybody could sing along to, and nobody could possibly object to. This was music for when you're on the job, and needed something to hum, keep your toe tappin'. When you yelled out "Freebird!" after a few too many brewskis, and needed a band that could go right into it perfectly, note for note.

Originating in the jazz/fusion scene around San Diego in the early '70's, they got their start as the Jim Gelman Odyssey. After two unsuccessful albums (1973's Ode to Captain Miracle and 1975's Encounter Group Jam) on a small local label (Reeferences), they disbanded and found work in the insurance industry. It was 1978, during the 'disco' times, that they found their way back into all of our hearts.

As a house band at the legendary basement nightclub Ludee's, there among the shag-carpeted (now as "Shag and the Carpets", a humorous reference to the decor) confines, they found their way, and carved out a new type of cover band. When Ludee's closed due to unpaid rent and drug rumors, they went back to the ol' woodshed ("We've always been a garage band, but my mom keeps tellin' us to quiet down out there!" Jim Gelman (far right in photo) once, said, with his trademark sense of humor).

In the early '80's, every hep cat could be found hanging out at Rockin' Rudy Tutti's Nifty Fifties Soda Shoppe n' Sock Hop on the Strip! And so could Jim and the Boys! This time they were named "Jimmy and the Chantrelles", not having heard of the popular and expensive mushroom of the same name. They greased their hair back, wore leather jackets and pegged jeans, and effectively epitomized the '50's ideal of "cool"!
The place sold "malts", "shakes" and "burgers" and "fries": all the things that remind you of the good old days back when we all were teenaged! Remember when? They played all the best tunes, until the management decided to go with a jukebox, then recorded music, then finally closing the business in 1986.

At this point, grizzled veterans of the road, journeymen musicians and axemen...Bards, if you will, they decided to form the ultimate tribute to their skills and the rock era itself: The Fabulous Techniques! Around this time, they made the acquaintance of one Gordon "Rusty" Feldkirsch (second from right in photo).

Rusty was another old hand in the music business. Having come up through various workshops and studio projects, he was the "sex symbol" of the band. He knew many people in the Jewish community, too, so suddenly "gigs" were rolling in!
Mitzvahs both bar and bat, weddings that involved knowing what to play during a hora, sophisticated in-between-song humorous patter, they had it all! It seemed their star ("...of David?" Haw! That Jim!) would never fall!

And for twenty years, it went that way. They never played a song that somebody didn't like. Their repetoire of twenty-some songs (including a stunning version of Mr. Neil Diamond's "Sweet Caroline"!) always got everybody up on their feet, and even when they would play the occasional controversial song from the radical '60's (as in The Doors' "Touch Me"), they did it with a smile on their faces, as if to let you know that everything was cool, and everybody was just trying to have a good time.

The fact that they could be felled by something as random and bizarre as contagious, deadly rosacea (contracted from Rusty; you can see the beginnings of what would be all their dooms on his right cheek in the photo) in no way takes away from the lasting legacy of musical quality and darn it, just makin' people happy thank you very much, that they leave behind.
The sons of Jim, Tony Dowes (second from left), Lou Cross (far left) and Art "Saxophone" Persipple (0n sax) have already made firm plans to continue the tradition, as The Fabulous Techniques II, with a more up-to-date, 'hip-hop' urban sound.

Rock In Peace! Remembrances may be made to the California State Republican party.

Ken "Kenny" Kennerson, 1963-2008

2007-06-08T20:55:00.001-07:00

It would come as no surprise were you to look at the accompanying photo and scream, "NOOO!!!" How could anyone, you are thinking, so young and so boyishly handsome ever be passed on? How can the world survive under the sort of God that would allow this to happen?
What possibly could God have been thinking, if not maybe selfishly thinking only of his own comfort and not that of Kenny and his family!

He went to school right here in town, and was always proud to say it to all and any who would listen. All the teachers loved him, and if you run into anyone at all who went to school with him, they will immediately burst into tears remembering what an exceptional and handsome boy he was.

He loved his six children very much, as well as wives Charleene, Donnatella, Margice and McLeeanne. Also his other "wives" like...Suedell and many other too numerous to mention.

His love of hunting, fishing, the Lord, America and Football were noted by many. He loved to hang out with "the guys"! He had a job that he worked very hard at, and inspired the many others who he worked with to do the same!
When he was 14, he won a trophy! It was for the Dissemination of Good Citizenship from the Knights of Saint Urho, and he stood up there and just looked so proud, he didn't take off his tux for a month! Later, he would do the same after his third marriage.

His lifelong love of fast driving and cars kept him healthy and alert. His collection of racing jackets was a great source of pride. Once, he met a famous NASCAR racer whose name escapes me. He was so excited!

He was a "chocoholic"! Beer was one of his favorite things! A good hamburger always made him smile, and hot dogs too!
Baseball! Apple pie! Chevrolet! All of these he loved! Remember this great and unique man!

His collection of beer cans, shot glasses and matchbooks from fancy hotels kept him entertained, this is for sure. He was quiet but loving. Didn't say a lot to his kids but they knew their "daddy" cared about them alot! His wives didn't understand him, much to his chagrin, so he moved around sort of , from woman to woman. He

He was a proud member of the Boy Scouts of America. His legal name was Kenneth, but he always told everybody, "Call me Kenny!"
Now he's gone home to Heaven, which so many do not believe in These Days. But Kenny, unlike so many, was a Christian. He also served in the Army, but he didn't like to talk about that.

He was a good boy but that doesn't mean he didn't have a "rebellious streak"! He grew his hair so long in his teens that his grandfather (deceased) said, "Who's that pretty girl out there?" He liked rock n' roll music and was known at times to smoke "pot". It's all good though. Kenny had a good head on his shoulders and was a good man.
Sometimes he'd go out, get his load on and get in a fight. But then when we'd pick him up from jail in the morning, he'd be sitting there crying and asking why he was alive, so I knew he'd learned his lesson.

He was a Democrat in the Seventies, a Republican in the Eighties, a Democrat again in the Nineties and was a strong supporter of President George W. Bush after the attacks of September Eleventh until about six months ago. He voted for Obama.
His tee-shirts were always folded. He liked to say, "I call 'em like I see 'em."

The circumstances of his death needn't be dwelt upon here. Those who knew Kenny got what they had coming, and they knew it. he
His burial will be accompanied by a twenty-one gun salute, and music by the National Air Guard band. I will be weeping softly, dignified, as I am handed the folded-up flag there.

Satan Himself, like-a-million fucking years ago-2007

2007-05-13T15:13:00.000-07:00

Previously thought to be unkillable, this barely human bag of shit was found with this harmless IPod stuck up his ass, possibly following an attempt to have sex with the damn thing, dead as a fucking doornail.

This war-criminal jackass amused the western world for many years attempting to convince us all that he was the vice-president of the United States. Previously, he wandered around claiming to be Secretary of Defense, leading to the senseless deaths of far too many.

(Update! It now seems that Dickass here, 103, perished yesterday in Argentina, choking on baby flesh. He will be remembered for being an ugly-as-sin personification of pure evil.)

(Latest Update! Now it has become clear that the senile old bastard who killed for the pure joy of it was found both kicked to death and eaten by dogs outside a popular and notorious hangout for others who shared his bizarre affinity for young males in donkey costumes. It seems that maybe there is justice in the world.

When not actively engaged in shooting off his friend's face and making the poor bastard apologize for any "discomfort" he caused the Cheney family, he was storming all up and down the globe, giggling with glee every time an Iraqi baby died, and openly threatening those who would end his fun.

(Oh man! Brand new! This just in: in some misguided attempt to have sex with a high-pressure hydraulic system, this inexcusable joke of a man was then sucked inside the hose, just beneath the nozzle, where he spent his final hours being pulled back and forth in what must have been an obscenely painful manner, finally succumbing to the overwhelming pressure, or maybe just being torn in half, like a slug.)

Raised as the scion of proud Wyoming family of puppy-stompers and pioneers in eating the retarded, he

(It is with great distaste that I must cut short a memorial piece submitted by a reader, no matter how clearly fictional. It must be said for Mrs. Dr. Boddington and myself that we wish we could pick and choose a bit more amongst our submissions, but the cash-on-hand has been sporadic of late, and we perforce will print pretty much anything.
That being said, this column is providing a public service, and for the sake of clarity and Truth we must state for the record that the final cause of death for the Vice President was his own jaw somehow unhinging and eating the rest of his head. Remembrances to be sent to The Foundation for Killing Everyone and Everything on Earth, Laramie, Wyo.-Rear Admiral Dick Wheeler, U.S.N. [ret.})

Ivy "Poison Ivy" Rashbaum 1997-2007

2007-04-27T22:29:00.000-07:00

By April Newton, age 9.

She was an evil little girl. She made everybody hate me, and one time she stole my dads cigarettes and told everybody that I smoked them. I got in a lot of trouble and I hated her.

She made it seem like she was such a good little perfect angel all the time, and that I was the one who was being so bad, but all the time it was Ivy who was evil, and I was good, and didnt do anything.

She moved into our house after hers mysteriousely burnt down. Everybody loved her, and everybody hated me. She was so bad to me that my own mother told me shut up you little bitch, don't you know how hard it has been for her.
Hard for her? She killed her mother and mothers boyfriend, because shes evil, and thats just that. Next thing you know, shes got all my dolls and wants more.

So she says my dads cute, and wants to go play softball with him. I says no you cant. Im onto you. She says no ones onto me, and she goes out to the soccer field, where they fall in love. I see what I have to do.
My mom says you selfish little bitch I hate you. If only you were as good as Ivy. I say But her names Ivy! Dont you watch movies? Shes evil, and shes gonna kill all of us! My mom says Im being impossible go to bed.

She made my friends hate me to. They said she was cool, and I was stupid. She taught them to smoke.
One time in the night, she asked me why I didn't want to be friends. I said that with friends like her. She said shut up. She said she could help me. I said help me be what? Evil? She said go to sleep.

My brother thought she was so cute. Hes a moron, but he tries so very hard. She made him cry, but no one cared because they said hes a little baby. Ivy just smiled that little cute smile and said I sowwy or something.

So one time just one time, I hide her asma inhaler, and she wakes up choking and coffing. Then shes not making noise anymore. I hated her so much. The end.

Henry P. Chapters 1918-2007

2007-04-19T19:40:00.000-07:00

As a representative of the Standard Reliant Receiving Company, I am using this space to publicly state that Mr. Henry P. Chapters, of 216 Calabash Circle Drive Court, departed our world owing my company $1,068, USD.

Born into a wealthy family in Moorehead, Minnesota, the young Henry amazed all those around him with his innate sense of thrift, a trait that in no way ameliorates my company's claim toward his estate.

As a teenager, he was a tight end on the high school football team. Lucky with the ladies (if not so much with finances, later in life), he met and wooed Queenette Van Halferstram, daughter of a local grocer. She preceded Henry into death in 2002, possibly sending him into a deep slough of despond, causing him to become less than reliable with his monthly payments.

He went to war, along with most of the males in this country, after the Infamous events of December Seventh, 1941. Decorated for his heroism in the brave rescue of other men in his unit by General Douglas A. MacArthur himself, he later would become penurious; uncommon behavior for a war hero.

After the war, he and Queenette settled here in the Tri-County area, where he dedicated his life to a career in insurance. This should have caused him to sock away a tidy nest egg, but for some reason, it did not.

He is survived by his son Vance, daughter Caroline, four grandsons (Mark, Tony, Charles [deceased] and Jonathan) and one granddaughter, Paltrow. Their father/grandfather still owes us money.

Mr. Chapters passed peacefully away on April Seventeenth, blissfully unaware (or possibly guilt-wracked) of his legal duty toward Standard Reliant Receiving Company. He will be remembered as a football star, war hero, adequate insurance claims adjuster, loving father/grandfather, and a man who died owing my company $1,068.

-Mark Chapters, Accounts Receivable

Cavendish "Cav" Trambler III

2007-03-25T20:15:00.000-07:00

(Editor's Note: In lieu of remembrances from next-of-kin, close friends or Interested Persons Otherwise, we are perforce using this draft of an obituary written by the deceased.-R. Adm. Wheeler [Ret.])

A consummate gentleman, lover of the women of the world and friend to many, Cav Trambler merged with the infinite on (date). He was prededed into death by his beloved Corgi, Melanie. Melanie went lookin' for a bone in Death's Cave, and she ain't come back yet! Ha ha!

Survived by his mother Elveena ("Mommy") and father Cavendish ("Two") II, we are all the more at a loss due to his passing. He loved good food (and hated bad! Ha ha!), good women and alcohol of all kinds. As a Kara-oke Jockey and Open Mike performer, he warmed the hearts of many crowds here in the Tri-County area. He preferred the Classics.

"The apples of the valley hold the seeds of happiness
the ground is rich from tender care
repay, do not forget; no no..."
-from "The Battle of Evermore", Led Zeppelin

Even as his ungrateful brothers and sisters were selfishly hogging all the family business and moneys (sp?), Cav spent a lot of his time being a loving son to his "Mommy", and often accompanies her to church. A proud son to his father, and a son his father no doubt is proud of, he love(d) life, and often asked no more than he was rightfully to be given.

As a happy young boy, he played often with neighbors and toys. All the adults were happy as pie to watch young Cav walking down the street, knowing full well that the pets would be treated with honest respect, and that tantrums weren't to be thrown. That is, unless he was treated unfairly, which of course sometimes would happen, since these are your average people we are talking about here.

Adult Cav roamed far and wide, devoting himself to Service (Comic Relief[tm]), and the helping of Others. One time, he gave this guy a whole pack of cigarettes who had lost his foot in Viet Nam. On another, this one time this lady with a whole car full of grandkids who had lost her food stamps card needed a ride fifteen miles (!) to the next town, and laughingly turned down the "favors" he was offered at that time. See what I mean? He just loved people!

After a long battle with (alcoholism and addiction to perfectly legal pharmaceuticals-Adm. Wheeler), he gladly and faithfully entered a realm where his art was of no consequence. God awaited His faithful son, Cav, and set aside a pretty place for him at the table, no doubt.

Sandra Mae “Sandy” Quinto 1929-2007

2007-03-25T20:03:00.000-07:00

On March 23, 2007, Sandy Quinto passed into the arms of the Lord, at age 77, finally escaping from all the pain and harsh disappointments that her life held.

More commonly known as Mrs. Benjamin Quinto, Sandy met and married the only man in her life soon after dropping out of high school to work at the post office—a time she would later frequently remember as the best six months of her life. After marriage, Sandy quit her job in order to become a full-time housewife, undergoing a series of heartbreaking miscarriages and crib deaths. It was around this time that Sandy turned to her Savior, devoting much of her time to volunteer activities with Community First National Baptist Church of the Holy Spirit, leading Bible discussion groups, working in the library after-hours, spearheading the yearly Rummage Sale and Cake Walk, acting as volunteer coordinator for the Flemmish Buffet, dusting and sewing the hymnals, decorating the Christmon tree, and much more. In the meantime, Mr. Quinto climbed the corporate ladder at Rom-Com, Inc., and missed sorely the warmth and support that every successful man deserves from his barren wife, who can give him nothing more.

The final years of Sandy's life were primarily given to quiet contemplation, studying the nature of the Lord as if it were the game of golf, to be honed and perfected over time, but through thought instead of experience. She preferred this manner of spending her days over talking to her husband, and even, after a time, laundering his clothes. She also enjoyed Sudoku.

Benjamin Quinto, husband, survives his wife.

Services will be held at Community First National Baptist Church of the Holy Spirit, and remembrances, if any, are to be directed there.

Loyalty P. "Steve" Munney 1968-2007

2007-03-20T11:52:00.000-07:00

We lost our Steve far too soon after a tragic car accident battle Thursday near Ralph's on Kilmartin Road. He was 39.
For many years we'd been pulling for Steve, due to his obvious malfunctions, and knowing well that God had a plan for Steve. It turns out what God actually had planned was now cruelly unclear.

"Steve" was born on the same day he passed, in 1968. The Days of Rage, and protest, assassinations and the like, largely unaffected the toddler, who spent his days playing around with his action figurines of The Monkees. His first words were "Monkee!", and we all laughed and were proud.

He attended Steve Martin (not affiliated with the popular movie star and comedian) high school, where he met his best friend (and worst bad influence), Guillermo "Steve" Reyes, a bad seed if we ever saw one. He introduced Steve to 'dope', and the two spent many hours sketching "album covers" on their notebooks. One of his best, a graphic rendering of a rather busty young woman in chain mail with her arms suggestively clasped around the neck of a large serpent, hangs in his grandmother's living room to this day, framed and signed, "Love you G-Ma! I'm gonna make you proud!" We've often asked her to take the d___ thing down, but she won't listen.

After his primary education, he elected to not attend any secondary. He worked in some d___ store somewhere, selling something I guess, and generally disappointed all of us. I met one of his "girlfriends" one time, and that "Tami" didn't impress me at all. She kept falling to sleep at the dinner table. The one thing she had to say to us was that Steve was "really, really cool", which caused this guy here, anyway, to snort.

Anyway, we kept talking to Steve about his interests, and reminded him that God was watching. That didn't seem to cut any ice with him. He kept talking about how we were all fooling ourselves with that stuff, and how maybe we ought to get out a little more. Well Steve, what do you think now, that your probably in H___? Maybe you should've "got out" and went to some d___ church every now and again, and spent a little less time doing batik or whatever it was people like you do.
Love's a funny thing, and it ain't for free. His sister Lissa (who he is survived by) always said things like, "but he's your son!", like that meant anything. No Lissa, my son is named Loyalty, and I haven't seen that kid since he started hanging out with M____cans.

Memorial services to be held at Steve's Place (Tavern) on Long Road. We ask that you please bring a covered dish and please no more g_______ed phone calls to our house.

Laura Jean "Bitsy" Hooker

2007-03-19T21:12:00.000-07:00

Lifelong Shell Rock resident, enthusiastic Irishwoman, and ardent devotee to the Cause, Laura Jean "Bitsy" Hooker, 96, passed away early Sunday after a long, ultimately unsuccessful battle against pyelonephritis.

Bitsy graduated from Shell Rock High School in 1928 and was set to marry her sweetheart, Rodney Zombrowski, until he was killed in the Black Tuesday stock market crash. During World War II, Bitsy and her sisters formed the regionally popular girl singing group The Hooker Triplets, in an effort to buoy the soldiers' spirits, as well as educate their fellow Shell Rockers on the importance of not wearing hosiery ("Make-Believe Stockings") and forgoing meat ("Boogie Woogie Tuna Boy"). But after the Armistice, rural Iowans largely forgot about this one-time singing sensation, leaving Bitsy's sisters to wed and Bitsy to focus on her chosen career in library etiquette.

The next stage of Bitsy's life was filled largely with watching birds from her childhood bedroom (which remained her home until the day she passed), shopping at Discount Heaven Mall Barn, writing long letters to her far-flung nieces and nephews, and collecting. Over the years, Bitsy forged friendships with many patient library-goers who appeared to share her interests in bits of paper, old boxes, string, scribble, reminiscing, fearing change, talking about the old times, looking outside, and, in later years, bridge.

Bitsy is survived by her sister Ruby Eldridge, nieces Jennifer Baeret, Deborah Lilley, and Theresa Seebrusker, and nephews Allen Eldridge, Irvin Lancaster, and Oliver Lancaster. We'll miss you, Aunty!

A memorial service will be held next weekend at the Hobby Shack, on Larkspur Road in between Kitty! A Place for Cats and the Old Meatball Mill. Friends are encouraged to bring remembrances and share stories of Bitsy. Punch and cookies will be made available after.

Rodolfo "Romanian Charlie" Umanya 1922-2007

2007-03-18T21:15:00.000-07:00

God finally called home his beloved "Romanian Charlie" Tuesday evening, after a long, brave battle with Hankin's myeloma at the Memorial Elms Shady Park Assisted Adult Care Facility.
"Charlie" was born on January 29th,1922 in Western Park, Illinois. He lived a happy life of a small boy with grandparents and uncles. As a child, he was sickly, and almost perished many times of diseases and complaints of the day. Thank The Lord that He spared Our Charlie for the good things to come to us all!

When The War broke out, "Charlie" signed up to be a mid-shipman, second class. Since most of his ship-mates could not pronounce his name, they called him "Romanian Charlie", a name which stuck! His own children called him Charlie, as "Father" seemed too familiar, besides which he disapproved of.
After The War, he started his own business (mattresses) and wooed his high-school sweetheart/tutor, Marjean Jenks of Western Park. They were married in The Chapel of the Chimes, with words of love from Pasztor Rzjkka of the Eastern Orthodox faith.

He is survived by loving son Chuck Junior, daughter-in-law Lupina of Cherry Oaks (divorced), daughters Barbra (Kettleson) of Misty Acres and Oletta (Farnsworth-al-Hajjii) of U.A.E., and grandsons Tyler, Dylan, Joshua, Emir and Ali.
Charlie is best remembered for his no-nonsense attitude: "Get the lead out!" was something he often could be heard saying loudly to the children around the house, and of the neighborhood. The kids remember "Romanian Charlie" as a loving taskmaster, who spoke of almost nothing but their need to join team sports and defeat 'our enemies', the kids from Eastern Park.

Interests he shared with his family and friends were golfing, philately and 'going to town'. His love of potluck buffets warmed the hearts of many. The automobiles he shared and loved with his grandsons.
He is less remembered for how he touched me one time when he thought no one was looking, and his unrelentingly cruel ways in dealing with the very young. Whenever we said anything about it, he'd lapse back into Rumanian and we knew that discussion time was over. He described himself proudly as "the bane of my children's existence", and so did we.
His long-suffering wife Marjean preceded him to the grave in 1972, after a long, strange illness.

Memorial thoughts and notions are directed to be thrown out to sea, regardless of what they are. We cremated him.