Fake Obituaries

Obituaries of people who never actually existed. For shits and/or giggles. var sc_project=6853467; var sc_invisible=1; var sc_security="9c49bf60";

[fake-obituary]

Sheldon Weldon (1944 – 2017)

Wine writer Sheldon Weldon has died of nefarious ankles at the age of 73. He was famous for his witty prose, which effervesced with elements of lyricism and nutmeg, giving way to subtle undertones of bathos and orchard fruits.

 Born in Dripping Plodhampton, Weldon’s upbringing was conventional for the time, with overwhelming aromas of fragrant honeysuckle giving way to the delicate permeation of a fourth-grader’s hamster cage. He left school at 16, and started writing for the local newspaper, the Plodhampton Aggravator.

Beginning with local news reporting, Weldon began reviewing restaurants for the publication when its long-standing food writer Angus Strop was accidentally executed by a Belgian firing squad. Weldon later described the opportunity as “a stroke of luck, with tempting notes of elderflower and a chalky aftertaste.”

 Weldon’s restaurant reviews became more and more popular with the Aggravator’s readership, and in 1965 he was offered a chief writer position at the national wine publication, Vinyard Infiltrator.

 Over the years, Weldon wrote wine reviews for a number of newspapers and magazines, including the Guardian, Glug Glug Spit Fortnightly, Oenalysis, and Grapefelch. His writing style was full-bodied, with hints of sherbet and iodine, like a peaty hospital dessert.

 In 1988, Weldon achieved national notoriety in the UK when, having imbibed slightly more than usual at a gala tasting event, he attempted to decant and drink Princess Michael of Kent. She described the experience as “unpleasant for the most part, but giving way to surprising aspects of licorice and brambles.” Weldon was freed when she declined to press charges.

 Away from the wine world, Weldon had many hobbies, including amateur necromancy and mail fraud. He married his first wife, Blair, in 1965, but they divorced six years later, citing a relationship that was “cold and unfeeling, with a short finish and inexplicably light tannins.”

  Sheldon Weldon, wine writer, born January 21, 1944, died August 21, 2017. The funeral will be on Friday at the car park, BYOB

[fake-obituary]

Digby Grud (1966 - 2012)

A hunter of global reknown

Digby's manner was stronger than stone

With an eye sharp as razor

And the tenacity of laser

Not a moment of mercy was shown

-

No matter if big game or small

Grud delighted in stalking them all

Before a beast knew it

Grud's missile passed through it

And its hide was already a shawl

-

In his trophy room, proud and distinct

Coats of feral fox, ermine and mink

Skin of tiger and bear

Heads of elephant, hare

And some species now believed extinct

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But though kitted with rifles and armour

Grud's final hunt ended in drama

It's unclear what occurred

Though the doctors concurred

He was buggered to death by a llama

[fake-obituary]

Wolfgang Smerk (1950 - 2012)

Born nineteen fifty

Died in two thousand and twelve

Not much in between

[fake-obituary]

Solomon Bundy (1966 - 2012)

Solomon Bundy, born on a Monday

Died on a Monday

(But a different Monday)

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Solomon Bundy, from the Bay of Fundy

His parents were fundies

Rarely having a fun day

-

Solomon Bundy, other children they shunned he

Never sports-selectioned-y

Always re-/de-jectioned he

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Solomon Bundy, morbid rotundly

At eating contests he stunned the

Judge; won a Hyundai

-

Solomon Bundy, moved to Burundi

Was tragically gunned be-

-cause he looked like a hippo

-

Solomon Bundy, born 1966, died 2012. The funeral will be accompanied by hot dogs.

[fake-obituary]

It's Fake Obits Poetry Week

Because why the fuck not.

[fake-obituary]

Brian Starcade (1931 – 2012)

Doomsday sect founder Brian Starcade has died of obstacle courses in his home town of Wallet. He was 81.

Starcade rose to prominence in the mid-1960s when he loudly and publicly claimed that the world was going to end on July 17, 1848. Much of the populace found fault with his prediction, with many pointing out the incontrovertible fact that the world had not actually ended on July 17, 1948. Nevertheless, he gained a modest number of followers, all of whom pledged to prepare for an Armageddon that they expected to happen 120 years in the past.

Prior to his follower-gathering breakthrough, Starcade made several doomsday predictions that went unheeded. Commentators attributed this to the fact that Brian had not been wearing an impressive cape.

At its peak in 1971, the Starcade Doomsday Sect boasted over a thousand members. Prominent adherents included actress Anita Garden, Ruff-Ruff the Catapulting Dog, and Sir Anthony Westingmale, the former Archbishop of Durham.

Starcade’s rules for his followers were few, but non-negotiable. Hats were compulsory (allegedly owing to Starcade’s phobia of bald patches), and nobody was allowed to run while carrying hot coffee, unless the beverage container had a lid. Also, new adherents were forced to swear that they did not believe in Belgium.

When not making vastly inaccurate predictions regarding the end of the World, Starcade enjoyed jazz, detective fiction, and fisting. He once tried all three at the same time, and had to be rescued by the coastguard.

In the later years of his life, Starcade’s cult waned, as followers grew restless with the inability of the world to end in 1848. Perhaps because of this lessening enthusiasm, Brian amended his prediction in 1998, saying that the second coming of Christ would occur during the final game of the 1970 Football World Cup.

Brian Starcade, prophet, lover; born 1931, died 2012. The wake promises to be the social event of the summer.

[fake-obituary]

Tallisker Yoplait (1962 – 2012)

Tallisker Yoplait, who has died of unnecessary yodelling aged 49, was a scrub.

Born in County Whippet, near Elfharm, Yoplait spent much of his youth talking about what he wanted and just sitting on his broke ass. This activity carried on into his adult years, much to the dismay of those close to him.

After leaving school in 1980, Yoplait continued to live at home with his momma. During this time he found it hard to find gainful employment, as a great deal of his time was spent hanging out of the passenger side of his best friend’s ride, trying to holler at women. The women were, for the most part, unimpressed with his behaviour, often saying that they didn't want him, and that he would get no love from them.

When not hanging out of the passenger side of his best friend’s ride, Tallisker’s own lack of car ownership meant that he was walking. This further cemented his scrub status.

Yoplait’s 30s were characterised as a time when potential beaus did not want his number. They were also not prepared to give him theirs. Furthermore, during this stage in his life, women did not want to meet him nowhere and they did not want none of his time.

Friends often spoke of Tallisker’s habit of checking a young lady, despite the fact that his game was kinda weak and she knew that he could not approach her. Many friends also mentioned that during these times, Yoplait was looking like trash, which was in direct opposition to the young lady, who was looking like class.

Rarely, if ever, would the young lady get with his dead-beat ass.

That said, despite Yoplait’s being a scrub, there were times in his life when he did indeed have a shorty. During these times, however, he showed no love to the shorty. Opinion is divided as to whether Yoplait’s scrub status was the cause of this.

Ever the scrub, even in the latter years of his life, Yoplait still attempted to get with women despite having no money. It seems that in his final days, he was still operating under the delusion that he was fly.

Tallisker Yoplait, scrub, born 1962, died 2012. He was also known as a Buster.

[fake-obituary]

Big John Shatterstone (? – 2012)

Big John Shatterstone has died. We don’t rightly know his age, but he were 80 if he were a day. Sure as the nose on your face, Big John’s seen some things in those years of his, I tell thee.

Tall as two horses and twice as handsome, old Big John didn’t come from no weak stock, that’s for sure. His fists were the size of eight guinea pigs, and were just as industrious. His shoulders were broad enough for jilted lovers to jump off, while his legs had the circumference of an oversized novelty gold-wrapped chocolate coin.

In fact, all of Big John’s body parts were comparable to things that are normally larger than those body parts.

Legend has it that Big John Shatterstone were once walking through Dinglefell forest when a stranger appeared from nowhere and challenged him to arm wrestle. Never one to back down, John said ‘Aye’. As they were fighting, arms locked, with their elbows on a tree stump, John saw horrific creatures appear from the forest and watch the two of ‘em. The legend goes that after three hours of back and forth, John finally pushed his opponent’s hand to the stump. His opponent screamed out in pain about a lost soul and ran off into the forest, while the creatures vanished. Depending on whoever’s telling the legend, the stranger was either Satan or King George V.

Big John were followed everywhere by his trusty dog, Enkidu. Tall as a six-inch rock sitting on top of a three-foot-tall cupboard, Enkidu was as gentle with children as he was vicious with vagabonds. Whenever Big John came to town, people would always comment that he owned the handsomest Labradoodle in the region.

Once, Big John were first on the scene when an orphanage had caught fire. In and out of the building he ran, grabbing screaming children and the like, carrying them to safety. As the building finally collapsed, one kid were still inside, and he perished. Big John spent ten years hunting down members of the fire’s family, killing them off one by one.

As the owner of the finest collection of miniature Japanese bonsai trees in the county, Big John had cultivated some of the most delicate and fragile tiny trees known to man. With branches the size of pigeons’ feet and leaves the size of tears falling from a colicky baby’s face, the trees offered John solace from the world outside, a brief moment of quiet contemplation in an otherwise unruly life.

Big John Shatterstone, born at some point (almost definitely), died 2012. His funeral will have no frills or fripperies.

[fake-obituary]

Cameron Camstab (1949 – 2012)

Cameron Camstab, who has died of flagrant benevolence aged 62, was an internationally recognised babysitter who achieved success at both heavyweight and middleweight levels. Her career record of 81 wins (46 of them by knockout) and 12 losses, with 4 split decisions, remains one of the best in the history of babysitting.

Born in Goitwich, Fonfoncester, Cameron felt like an outcast in her family, partly due to the fact that many of her older relatives seemed like they were from another generation. Indeed, half of them were from a completely different gender to hers. For this reason, she became somewhat of a tearaway.

Petty criminality led to weighty criminality, and in 1965, before she had turned 16, Camstab found herself in front of a judge for impersonating a chair. He gave her a choice: join a character-building social group, or go to prison. She chose the former, and immediately started training as a babysitter.

Under the tutelage of famed babysitting trainer Gordon McAchno, Camstab developed into a formidable babysitter. With a dominant left hook, excellent stamina, and a definite no-nonsense approach to bedtime, she rose through the local ranks, winning as many plaudits as she did matches.

In her first regional competitive bout, Cameron faced the highly-fancied Gumthorpe Twins. Despite nearly succumbing to their clinical tantrum technique, she prevailed through aggression, nifty footwork, and the threat of "no dessert if you don't behave".

In 1968, Camstab got her first shot at an international middleweight title. Victory came in just two rounds, with her opponents, Molly and Sam Bagshaw, defeated by technical knockout. She held the belt for three years, until a controversial judging decision in Las Vegas gave the title to the US-based Gadspur family.

After her loss, Camstab turned her attention to the heavyweight division. Her first bouts were not promising, with a particularly bad loss to a 92-pound 8 year old girl causing many to doubt her ability. But she switched trainers to the more progressive Jock McHarrrghy, and her heavyweight babysitting prowess returned. She won the title in the fabled “Childminding in the Jungle” bout in Equatorial Guinea in 1974.

Camstab announced her retirement in 1983. She spent several years on the talkshow circuit and became a commentator for the BBC’s Saturday Night World of Babysitting show. She briefly came out of retirement for a lucrative match against the enfant terrible of the babysitting world, 1-year-old Honeywell Smitts, in 1987. A shadow of her former self, Camstab was beaten by a fifth-round poop explosion.

Cameron Camstab, former world champion babysitter, born 1949, died 2012. All flags will be flown at half mast from this Thursday until the third week in October.

[fake-obituary]

Epithemus (circa 6000 BC – 2012)

Greek deity Epithemus has died at the age of around 8000 years. He had been suffering from a long battle with cultural relevance.

Epithemus was born when his father, Silenas the God of Unfathomably Large Hats, accidentally spilled his seed into the cosmos after seeing a particularly erotic goose. Some of Gorges’ seed found its way into Demes, the Goddess of Disapproving Eyerolls, and Epithemus burst forth into the world like a crazy supernatural bullet.

In God school, Epithemus excelled at Lightning Boltery and Advanced Vengeance. After graduating, he applied for the vacant position of God of War, but lost out in the final stages of the interview. He attributed this to his answering the question “What are your weaknesses” with “Turning into a bull and harassing human women.”

Epithemus was later given the role of ‘God of Looking like You Know What You’re Doing when You’re Actually Winging it’.

In a famous mishap, Epithemus accidentally shot a life-giving firebolt to earth when he broke wind in Vulcan’s workshop. The bolt raised several humans from the dead, an act that is said to have been the inspiration for the story of Jesus and Lazarus in the Christian religion, and also of the Troma sci-fi horror film Space Zombie Bingo.

After enjoying much of the age when gods and mortals mingled freely, and all of the age of heroes, Epithemus started to suffer from a lack of cultural relevance in the modern era. Speaking in Playgod Magazine in 372 AD, he claimed a lack of concern at his plight. “We’ve got these new boys these days," he said, "Your Trinity Jesuses and your Allahs, and they’ve made a name for themselves, you know? All credit to them, really. Can’t begrudge them their success at all.”

Epithemus tried to engineer a comeback in the lucrative American market in the sixteenth century, but was beaten out by Jesus, who went on to become a big star in that market. Citing fatigue, the ancient Greek retired to Crete, where he spent his last three centuries growing olives and watching women bathe while disguised as an owl.

Epithemus, God of Looking like You Know What You’re Doing when You’re Actually Winging it, born circa 6000 BC, died 2012. The funeral will be in St. God’s Church; guests are requested not to sacrifice any animals in the car park.

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Thestlethwaine Glod (1932 - 2012)

Thestlethwaine Glod, who has died of imaginary kneecaps at the age of 79, was a fashion designer whose clothes were as innovative as they were unwearable.

Glod was born to an incredibly religious family in the village of Maimshaft. Her early years were not spent at school, but she instead assisted her parents in recreating the passions of Saint Mumm-Ra de Bicycle. As such, Thestlethwaine learned at a very early age how to cut fabric, and also cry uncontrollably while carrying a giant spoon up a mountain.

Glod's interest in the world of high fashion came in her late teens, when she accidentally set fire to a neighbour. She later spoke of her "fascination...with the vibrant reds and yellows of his blazing clothes, [and] the screaming, the screaming, the screaming."

When she enrolled in fashion school, Glod's parents disowned her and adopted a badger that they treated as their own daughter. When the badger was found defecating in a saucepan they disowned it as well.

Thestlethwaine's first fashion show after graduation ended in chaos when the audience mistook her clothing creations for visions of the unknowable infinite. Many buyers from the large fashion houses had to be restrained with belts.

In the late 1960s, Glod established herself as one of Britain's premier designers when she set upon her trademark look. Comprising of an elevated hem with a beeline between the taint and wattle, it took the nation's youth by storm until it was put down by the authorities in 1971.

Throughout the 70s and 80s, Thestlethwaine designed suits for men in haircut posters. She said that she enjoyed this work as it was "as easy as pissing on a cucumber."

After retirement, Glod revoked her own citizenship and fled to Paraguay. She lived there until her death, and now nobody knows what to do with the body.

[fake-obituary]

Nigel “Gigantor” Jones (1953 – 2012)

Nigel “Gigantor” Jones, who has died of beehive on the knee, was a loving husband, dedicated father, and also a 70 metre-tall metaphor for atomic mistrust.

Born when a nuclear bomb was dropped on Monster Island, off the coast of Japan, Jones’ early years were spent playing with friends, going to school, and rising from the waters of the Pacific to strike allegorical panic into populace still reeling from the horrors of World War Two.

After leaving school, Nigel began working at the office of a local shipping clerk in Osaka. His career there did not last long due to several differences of opinion between Jones and management. On many occasions his work ethic was called into question due to his disinclination to work overtime, and many coworkers took issue with his tendency to expel a concentrated blast of radioactive energy from his mouth when frustrated.

Jones moved to Tokyo in 1975, believing that the populace of this metropolis would be more understanding of a giant lizard creature embodying the fears of an injured nation. He was mistaken.

“I can’t walk down the street without turning a corner and seeing a line of tanks pointing at me,” Jones wrote in a letter to a friend in 1976. “So what if my body constantly emits a form of radiation that contaminates water and causes animal mutations? Can’t a guy go out and buy a box of Pocky in peace?”

In 1980, Gigantor moved to the USA where he figured attitudes to a walking allegory for nuclear peril would be less harsh. He quickly found a job as a bodyguard for soul singer Luther Vandross, but was quickly forced to leave after accidentally standing on a school bus, crushing everyone inside.

Unwanted by the world, Nigel decided to return to Monster Island, only coming back to civilisation one more time, when MechaGigantor attacked Japan from outer space. In the ensuing battle, mankind’s fear of alien terror was no match for our own home-grown atomic paranoia, and Jones defeated his robotic opponent.

Setting up home on Monster Island, Jones met and married a giant moth-like symbol of science run out of control. Together they gave birth to a massive scorpion that wasn’t really a metaphor for anything, just a big creepy monster.

Nigel “Gigantor” Jones, enormous representation of man’s fear of the atom, born 1953, died 2012. The big-budget US version of his funeral will be a travesty.

[fake-obituary]

Lebanon Fratricide (1955 – 2012)

Lebanon Fratricide, who has died of whimsical jodhpurs aged 56, will be forever remembered among friends, family and the Irish, especially around sundown and on Thursdays.

Born in Bwelt, near Scundunt, Fratricide spent his childhood trying to recreate the bliss of his pre-birth months. He was often found hiding inside a giant cushion that he had placed within a barrel of apple juice. This did nothing to diminish his mother’s many regrets.

 Once resigned to a life outside the womb, Lebanon (or “Lebsidoo” as he preferred to be called) embarked on what would become a life-long search for adventure. Even as a young child he would chase local policemen on his bicycle, kicking them and laughing at their shrieks as he herded dozens of them into a nearby lake. Sadly this did little to satisfy his need for excitement, and the dry-cleaning bills were often outrageous.

At the age of 18 Lebsidoo decided to go to war, but when he couldn’t find one worth going to, he decided to start his own instead. After entering into hostilities with the nearby town of Yesminster, Fratricide engaged in a devastating six-year campaign that resulted in the death or displacement of more than a million people, and at times saw the intervention of forces from the UN, NATO and the British Association of Blind Vintners. Although he ultimately lost the war, Lebanon did end up controlling sunstantial parts of Denmark.

Even with his thirst for battle quenched, Fratricide still yearned for excitement, and between 1981 and 1984 he ran around the local area with a sharpened stick, pointing it at people and generally causing a nuisance. He stopped these shenanigans after being given freedom of the city of Manchester and not knowing what to do with it.

In 1987 Lebanon announced that he was going to climb Mount Everest, and immediately regretted it.

Problems with mental health and the Inland Revenue Service meant that Lebanon was effectively a recluse during the 1990s and 2000s. He lived the life of a nomad, moving from shed to shed in people’s back gardens, only moving on when discovered hiding under a lathe or between some fence-making equipment. It’s rumoured that he subsisted on a diet of old topless-model calendars and tarpaulin.

Lebanon Fratricide, born 1955, died 2012. People wishing to donate whistles are asked to leave them in the bucket by the door.

[fake-obituary]

can i put my on info in the obituarie

You can do whatever you want, if you just believe in yourself and don't tell anyone about that thing on your shoulder blade that looks like David Schwimmer's upper lip.

[fake-obituary]

How can I obtain a fake obituary

Meet me in the alley behind the Superfresh Supermarket. Make sure you are not followed. Bring six hundred packets of cheese and onion flavoured Walkers Crisps, in a plastic bag. I will be wearing a hat.

[fake-obituary]

how can i make and print out a fake obituary

Step one: Open Microsoft Word

Step two: Type out fake obituary, making sure to spell all words correctly except the ones you're deliberately mis-speling for humour.

Step three: Hit Ctrl-P

Step four: Click 'Ok'

You may want to get an adult to help you with the parts involving scissors.

[neolexicon]

More than 27,000 people per year suffer from Oharanoia. They mostly suffer in silence, not telling anyone of their crippling affliction.

It could be someone you know.

It probably is someone you know.

Actually, it’s definitely someone you know. It’s someone you know. It’s someone you know.

You know someone with Oharanoia. 

SOMEONE YOU KNOW KEEPS CONSTANT WATCH FOR FICTIONAL AMERICAN CIVIL WAR-ERA CHARACTERS BECAUSE THEY THINK THEY’RE UNDER SURVEILLANCE. BY FICTIONAL CHARACTERS. FROM A BOOK AND FILM.

That’s fucked up, man.

[fake-obituary]

If you like Fake Obituaries, you'll love Neolexicon! It's like Fake Obits, but with new words and stuff! And it's written by the same bloke! And they called him a one-trick pony! Pshaw!

Wait, they called me a one-trick pony? Who did? Who are 'they'? Why are they calling me names?

I'm talking to myself, aren't I? Oh God, it's happening again.