(1988 AD – 62 BC)
But let us never forget the man he was. When Chiz wasn’t smoking heaps of crack and reciting Harry Frankfurt in a loud, monotone voice to baby strollers at the mall, he enjoyed reenacting Civil War battles with carrots, celery, highly flammable substances, and live ammunition. It seems like only yesterday that Chiz accidentally remodeled his home due to a poorly placed explosive and half-eaten celery stick.
He even enjoyed donating his time at the local soup kitchen. If it weren’t for the discovery of his obsession with adding black market sloth meat to the soups, he would probably still be contributing his time to the kitchen and the many people he helped become homeless.
With his multiple personalities, he would often have many memorable exchanges with the townsfolk. We all had a hearty laugh when Chiz offered to escort Ol’ Man Diddledink across the street and then spontaneously burst into a fit of rage using his retard strength to hurl Diddledink into a mailbox. It’s like he used to say, “I put the Chiz in schizophrenic!”
His final days were most memorable when he managed to infiltrate a local prostitution ring. Although he failed to report the criminal activity, he made it easier for the police to bust the organization by bringing prostitutes to town meetings and county fairs while drunkenly shouting, “Make prostitution taxable! Will it then be legal?!”
So, we say farewell to Chiz and the many lasting memories he’s grace our community with including an uncontrollable outbreak of herpes and a radioactive, uninhabitable section of town.
P.S. I’m not really dead.