Written by Weigand
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Topics: fans

Sunday, 15 August 2004

The world lost a great man this Saturday.

Nonsense poet John Henry David III died suddenly from massive contusion of the eye socket last night; the cause of this strange death has not yet been found.

The half-vampire poet, (we asked as little as we could about his background,) who lived in his parents' basement and lived off of dog food and garlic water, was found lying upon the downstairs couch with a pencil in his hand and a pencil in his eye.

How the latter found its way into said apeture is as yet unknown, but forensic scientists suspect it had been placed there forcefully. The man's parents claim that they heard "noises from below" but belived it to be the satanic rituals they were sure their son performed down there.

"I always knowed he wuz a bad'n becuz he always talked bak t'me an' never did whut i tol'im to. I d'no why he gone did that stoopid poetry thing in th'first place, I never approved of his nonsense wrtin's. They be the devil. But I'd never shove a pencil through his eye. That'd be dum." said the father.

"John was a bad child," agreed Mrs. David, "sometimes I had to beat him with a five-iron just to make him carry around my television set as I moved about the house!"

David's "large" following of poem-lovers was heartbroken by the news of his death and wrote heartrending nonsense poems to place upon his headstone. One particularly moving poem reads:

"Oh John
Oh Henry
Oh David
Oh Clementine
Oh Grossbeak
Oh Fieldmouse
Oh Chicken Bucket
Oh Pencil
Frrrrraaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaap
"

*sniff* So emotional.

Most readers of David's material claim they read it for the humor. Thus, most were terribly displeased when the obiturary, which they expected to contain some of his trademark laughs, proved quite drab. They felt it didn't do him justice, and sent packages of poo to the people who wrote it. Said one fan,

"He had an infallible sense of the funny things in life. Or maybe he just wrote down a bunch of words in semi-grammatical constructions that didn't make any sense but were somehow funny. I don't know. Either way, my seagull is an elephant."

Well our seagull is an elephant too. Sleep well, sweet prince, and may flocks of angels bear thee to their nest.

Or something like that.

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The story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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