Ken "Kenny" Kennerson, 1963-2008

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

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

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

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

(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

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

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

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

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.