"He aint dead yet, but throw some dirt on his ass anyway."

I read the most amazing thing today, John. I was following the madcap adventures of the Family Circus 'not-me' ghost in this morning's paper, when my eyes caught some tiny text in the margin of Beetle Baily. I had to squint to make it out, but here it is in its entirety.

What passes for John Prewett [????-1994] died peacefully Sunday evening from radioactive decay. The first officer at the scene, George Rudzinski, explained that several tenants of Prewett's hovel reported seeings a strange flash of light and the presence of an odor reminiscent of frying bologna. "When we got inside, all that remained was a small lump of organic matter. We poked at it with a stick for a while, but we had to send it to the lab for a full analysis in order to identify it as John Prewett."

Many of John's neighbors later admitted that they bore a grudge against him for his loud late-night tirades about JFK, Kissinger, and the Catholic Church. "He would have been dead sooner," said his landlord, "but we weren't able to collect enough bat guano for the proper rituals."

Prewett's remains will be placed in a milk crate and buried in a pauper's grave at St. Jimbo's Reformed Catholic Church at the corner of 5th and Elm. Prewett's marker will bear the legends "He followed the herd" and "He was really, really, sensitive". His posessions will be given to his relatives as soon as cryptologists from the FBI finish deciphering his family tree.

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