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Life’s An Obituary. Then You Die.

“An obituary doesn’t happen after you die. An obituary happens while you are alive.” – Kyle Freaking Baxter

In an effort to prepare myself for the afterlife, I have carefully considered today. I was reading the obituary of a man who lived a straightforward American life, worked for 40 years, had 2.3 kids, loved fishing, owned a dog, and had a bad combover. His kids wrote him a polite, albeit mundane, sendoff in the local newspaper.

I don’t want my family to assemble a pile of facts after I’m gone. Before God and the world, I submit this humble time capsule. May my family print this, word for word, in the newspaper (The Mars Times – I plan to live to 238, mind you). Some facts may be greatly exaggerated or outright lies, but I feel it still captures my soul as an exaggerator and outright liar.

“Kyle Baxter was humbly born in a barn. For this reason, he never learned to close the front door. His parents were hard-working, salt-of-the-earth, sweat-of-the-brow, and otherwise good-looking people of child-bearing age. They raised him amongst his siblings, who were older in age and similar in genetic composition.

As a young lad, Kyle enjoyed the outdoors, especially as he saw it from inside the house, taking in the air conditioned goodness that God had bestowed upon Man. Kyle excelled in school, because he figured out how to bully the smarter children into taking tests for him. He graduated as Valedictorian, Class Clown, Captain of the football team, Miss Congeniality, and Prom King of his home school. Throughout his college years, he worked at a local grocery store, providing outstandingly handsome service to the public.

Kyle was married at the ripened age of 22 to an old spinster one year his junior. He and his wife lived a modest life as secret millionaires in a suburb of Kansas City. This was markedly modest because these secret millionaires were actually super-secret billionaires who had made their fortune from the sale of their business, Google. You see, Kyle thought to himself one day, ‘What if, someone wanted to find something on Wikipedia? They should totally Google it! Now if only I could figure out what it means to google something, besides an utterly sophomoric, chortle-inducing act.’

Though he lived beloved by the masses, even having been nominated as Best Supporting Actor (and it is an honor just to be nominated), Kyle lost out on that hallowed Oscar to James Franco (who Oscar-baited the Academy) (I MEAN, WHO TAKES THE ROLE OF A TRANSGENDERED GUY WITH CANCER UNLESS HE WANTS A MEANINGLESS AWARD???) who had a well-deserved win.

***story detailing how I wrestled a boa constrictor to save a school bus full of blind children***

Kyle spent his 230th birthday with family. Just him and his wife. No kids. Not even teenagers. In fact, anyone under 80 was not permitted. Steak was served. With a side of steak.

***insert more text about how great I am here***

Sadly, Kyle met his Maker before his time. After volunteering at a soup kitchen in a rough neighborhood during the holiday of ‘Kyle Baxter Day’, he was attacked by a gaggle (tee-hee! Oh, sorry . . . I thought you said google) of streetwise punks who were trying to burn down an orphanage. Kyle died of a heart attack brought on by exhaustion, having single-handedly beat to death 50 men 1/10th his age.

In short, Kyle was the man every other man wanted to be: good job (super-secret billionaire), hot wife, Oscar nomination (what an honor just to be nominated), and the guy who actually got Bin Laden. Spoiler Alert: I put a banana peel in his shower. He lived life to its fullest, which was 110%, coincidentally what all great professional athletes give.”

I bid you all adieu,
Kyle F. Baxter

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