DENVER â Local man Scott Bumstead died this week, following a brief battle with living fast, leaving behind what has been described as âa rather ugly corpse,â confirmed sources during the open casket funeral.
âI think we all shouldâve seen it coming,â said Bumsteadâs on-again, off-again girlfriend Beth Nedwell. âI think Scott always deified rock stars like Kurt Cobain and Jim Morrison who were sort of these tragic figures who were also hot. I know Scott really wanted to join the 27 Club. Itâs just that 27 came and went and he wasnât famous, talented, or even attractive. He just sat around huffing paint and picking fights at bars. Itâs sad really, the way he went and even sadder that his corpse looks more or less like the Elephant Man.â
Still, many have gathered to mourn the passing of a young life too soon extinguished.
âScott was always reckless,â said Anthony Royce, Bumsteadâs childhood best friend. âWe used to watch âJackassâ and just laugh and laugh and laugh. But I would always pay attention to the warning that came up when Johnny Knoxville told us and our dumb little buddies not to try this at home. I listened. But Scott never did. Nor did he ever moisturize. That probably wouldâve helped the look of his bloated dead face.â
Michael Zweig, the coroner who performed Bumsteadâs autopsy, provided some insight on the unsightly corpse.
âWell, the fact of the matter is most people who live fast and die young do not leave beautiful corpses,â said Zweig. âTake this young man in question. He may have assumed it was ever so funny, ever so jolly, ever so delightful to do six boiler-makers and then break into an adult trampoline park after close. But the result is very different. And then Iâve got a guy with his neck bones stuck out like the Sidney Opera House and number three in his drawers to clean up on a Monday morning. Number three is when the body dies and discharges from the front and back. But it reverses, so the brown comes out the front and the yellow comes out the back.â
At press time, Bumsteadâs earthly remains were being lowered into the sweet bowels of mother earth who bore him, only for the combing pressure of all the pins holding his body in its proper shape to snap and send him spinning out of the coffin like a jack-in-the-box onto his grandmother in the front pew.
