Timmofer Pooblansky, 56, of North Beaver, MN, died peacefully in his home at 9p surrounded by loved ones, and his in-laws. Neighbors report that Pooblansky was a Technical Synergist for Indoor Pool Sales at Chum’s Aquatics, on the 4600 block of Old Giney Rd. He maintained good relationships at work and in the community. However, friends, loved ones, and in-laws all seem to agree that Timmofer could not tell a joke. Many deem his passing as a sign that perhaps the end times have been avoided, that indeed Satan may not visit a plague o’ peckers upon the town. Said his third son, Jimmofer, “Look, I loved my dad. He was the greatest but his jokes were terrible. He once sent a man to intensive care after a joke. But maybe, now that my dad is in heaven, maybe his jokes won’t usher in a dark age of ironic evil, or of an evil that’s trying too hard… Now, if only that other guy would die then we’d be set.”

In fact, it’s what drove his mother-in-law to keep inviting Chad Chetsworth–a single pediatrician with a private practice and vacation home in Ahlphuket, WI–over to private family gatherings. She’s been openly hoping to rekindle a spark between Chetsworth and her daughter, Mrs. Pooblansky. Especially the troublesome to Mr. Pooblansky (now deceased) was that his mother-in-law would invite the single Chetsworth to the reading of the different wills for Timmofer’s late father, mother, niece, and eventually even for the passing of his pet great Dane, Bob Newbark.

His jokes were said to be so bad that various emergency services were both aware of him and had nicknames for him. The police referred to him as, “The Murder Poo”, EMTs as, “The Death Poo”. Fire services switched it up with the less insulting, “Fiery BM”, but the emergency arm of the CDS (Chipotle Delivery Services) went back to original flavor with their nickname for him, “Burning Corn Poo”. Each of those emergency services was, at one point or another, on the front lines of dealing with the aftermath of Pooblansky’s terrible jokes.

No one in town will soon forget the day that all four services were called to the same emergency, a day known colloquially as, The Day of the Huckster’s Havoc, or: “Oh Fuck” Day. The CDS lost a few heroes that day. Please take a moment of silence to honor them by remembering their favorite burrito toppings.

But this day, the nightmare finally ends with the death-happening of Timmofer Pooblansky, at his home with his family. Things were going well Timmofer Brooke his promise and told a really bad dad joke, one that easily would’ve caused the baby to choke on some eggnog and cigarettes. But instead, the strangest thing happened. They all laughed.

His family laughed and the baby was breathing, and no CDS techs showed up at his door. It was rewarding and he felt somehow sublimely complete, as if somehow a missing part of his soul that yearned for acceptance and love was finally fulfilled as his children told him how much they appreciate him and his wife said that she never really appreciated that joke until now and would he like to have sex tonight. Then his mother-in-law walked over and said “I never realized how much you really were good enough for my daughter.” Then the father-in-law comes over and says “You, and also your children, aren’t dip-shits. When those strippers refinished the wood I knew I was finally happy to call you son.”

Somehow, everyone was laughing, unironically. That was nice. Pooblansky felt better and better and better. It was then that Pooblansky saw the stranger behind the mashed potatoes, though no one had been there all night. Now there stood a figure, hooded and carrying a scythe. Timmofer nodded gently while everyone else was still laughing, and happy, and he says to the stranger. Huh… “Listen, before you swing that scythe, just tell me, they all laughed didn’t they?”

Pooblansky shrugs and says to himself, “Well at least it finally happened. This must truly be heaven.”

“Yes,” says Death. “If you heard your jokes followed by shrieking and screams of agony then we’d be in Hell, or your annual Christmas Dinner.”