It's "Write My Own Obituary" Day

Here's how I imagine it going down:

LOCAL WRITER FOUND DEAD, HAPPY IN SUBURBAN CHICAGO HOME

CHICAGO (Reuters)—Controversial and as-yet-mostly-unknown author Brian O’Mara-Croft, 44, was found dead in his suburban Chicago home yesterday morning in what some on the scene described as “offputting” conditions and at least one regarded as "unspeakably inappropriate."

Although details are as yet unclear, one EMT confirmed the deceased bore a broad grimace pasted across his countenance and a portion of his lower anatomy trapped in “alarming rigor”. Emergency workers quickly left the scene, some holding their pinkie fingers up for delighted onlookers, others in tears.

Said one: “I’m not crying for him. I’ve never even heard of him. Still, alive or deceased, nobody should have to see that.”

His wife of almost 10 years, Patty, shrugged for reporters.

“He died as he lived.” She batted away a tear. “He’d have wanted it this way.”

O’Mara-Croft, who sought international renown for his not-so-family-friendly descriptions of rabbit penises, bat penises, monkey penises, penises ensnared in vacuums and anything “genitalesque”, but whose stated ambition to be "The next Charlie Sheen, admired by millions," was never realized, appears to have suffered a fatal stroke at a time some would consider inopportune. The local coroner refused to speculate whether the film, “Treat Me Like the Pig that I Am #32”, found in the deceased’s DVD player, played any role in his death.

Tearful, his wife added, “I was tired. He was annoyingly drunk. He acted like a big man about how he’d forge on in spite of my refusals.” Looking thoughtful, she added, “I guess this was one journey Mr. Loved-by-Millions needed to take on his own.”

O’Mara-Croft, author of Lost in the Hive, is survived by five children who, although not reached for comment, have been observed smiling and cheerful in spite of the news. A friend of one observed, “You can’t even begin to imagine the weight off of my friend’s shoulders. No son should ever open his Facebook page to a photo of his father dancing in a snowbank in a purple thong. NO son.”

Another friend, who refused to be named, added, “Based on what I saw, I can understand his obsession with penile enhancement. The thong shot looked like two raisins wrestling a malformed earthworm in a frozen coin purse.” On the coroner’s report, the same lower region was described as “average for a Caucasian male.”

Funeral arrangements have yet to be disclosed, although most family members have confirmed they see no reason to attend on a "laundry day".

Reporters caught up with O’Mara-Croft’s widow as she appeared to be pricing coffins at various warehouse stores.

“I came for the jumbo bag of pretzels,” she said, before adding, "And I found them. It's all good."

O’Mara-Croft, in his writing, sought to get a rise out of all of us; ironically, it would seem the rise he got out of himself was his undoing. He will not be missed.