I don’t want to seem morbid, but it’s always worth thinking about the worst-case scenario in life – death. Okay, so that does seem quite morbid. But one has to be prepared. Therefore, I am advance-publishing my obituary. I’m predicting that I’ll last until next year, however optimistic this may seem. Please delete as applicable.
Minnie Bygott, 1983-2009: The (tragic / fortunate) death of a much-(loved / despised) public figure
It is with deep (regret / ecstasy) that we at (The Times / Daily Mail / Toadstools Monthly) are forced to (admit to the murder / announce the late passing) of the well-known (astrologer / philanthropist / critic / nudist) Miss. Minnie Bygott.
Having lived a relatively dull life until the age of 25, she lived the last year of her life to the absolute fullest. The beginning of the end was her marriage to (Mayor of London Boris Johnson / Comedian Alan Davies / her pet weasel) the day before her 25th birthday. The marriage lasted all of (four / five / ten) (months / weeks / seconds) before breaking down spectacularly: Minnie was forced to watch as her beloved husband was crushed to death in a tragic accident involving a hedgehog, a pair of pliers and some silly putty.
After that, she was utterly inconsolable, barely stopping in her quest for justice until a full four days after the event. After that, she toured the world with brand new hit sensation The (Dancing Badgers / Sliding Wool / Unravelling Napkins), eating her favourite dish of crÃ¨me brÃ»lÃ©e in every country and principality of the world, even including Grimsby.
The highlight of her career came in an unexpected moment: one day, walking through Leicester Square (an area she was generally wont to avoid) she happened upon the person we now recognise as being the biggest wanker in the history of the universe: Russell Brand. Of course, at that time Brand was a national hero – but Minnie’s natural hatred of him overcame her, and she set about poking his eyes out with the 16″ ceramic knitting needles she liked to keep down her knickers. After disembowelling him with a plastic spoon she found in the gutter, Minnie pulled out his entrails by hand, deep-frying them in batter and feeding them to a crowd of waiting albino pigeons.
Of course, Minnie was forced to flee, but the mysterious note she left regarding curtains and the colour turquoise soon convinced the nation that her wanton murder of Brand could only be a good thing. Minnie Bygott was now a hero – not just in Britain, but also Grimsby. Even when she was caught on several CCTV cameras in the act of pushing her most hated colleague over a fifth floor balcony to his gruesome death, the jury failed to convict.
To her friends, Minnie will be remembered as being the (dirtiest prostitute / greatest nose-flautist / slimiest biscuit) ever to live. To her enemies? Simply execrable.