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Off to the Great Circle Pit in the Sky, Punks We Lost This Week

Donald Sheffield
June 4, 1990 – July 5, 2023

Born in Bennington, Vermont, Donald Sheffield was raised in a paper yurt on the backside of an abandoned ski slope. He once attempted to invent his own astrological symbol which he called called “Sagitauri-Picer.”

A free spirit, Mr. Sheffield could often be found wearing shorts, which he made himself, long after the crotch had already worn through. He made his living by stealing and reselling various camping equipment from the lost and founds of area motels. Mr. Sheffield enjoyed rubbing his patchouli-drenched dreadlocks against his friends’ roommates’ couches and playing racquetball in the nude. He passed away suddenly after failing to adhere to the warning posted on the triple black diamond slope located in his side yard.

Mr. Sheffield is survived by his wife Constellatina, loyal dog Cerburula, and his mescaline dealer who is a literal cloud of spores.

Glen Morris
February 8, 1995 – July 7, 2023

Glen Morris was born in San Francisco to parents Paul and Trinian Morris, the tech moguls behind the successful startup www.fuckable-furbies.com. He often cited the exposure to corporate greed and soulless exploitation of the tech boom at a young age as his inspiration for getting involved in the music industry.

Mr. Morris began his career by suing Guns and Roses for making him wait so long for “Chinese Democracy” to be released, which was settled for an undisclosed amount of cash and three of Axl Rose’s teeth. He reached further success at Elektra Records, becoming the youngest executive in the label’s history after getting the previous executive removed from the board by framing them for horse abuse. Mr. Morris died last week after having the brakes of his BMW cut by yet another up-and-coming young record executive.

He is survived by his parents and the board of Elektra Records, especially the shifty-looking guy who wasted no time at all in moving into Mr. Morris’s old office.

Angelica Lorenstein
April 23, 1955 – July 11, 2023

Born in Sioux Falls, South Dakota, Angelica Lorenstein moved to New York City in 1973, making the entire journey riding on bison back. She soon established her presence in the burgeoning Bowery scene, and was known by the distinctive bison-skin coat she always wore and the fact that she always smelled like slaughtered bison meat.

Ms. Lorenstein formed the short-lived proto-cowpunk band Rubber Hoof in 1975, and they were allowed to play CBGB one time and made it through exactly two and half songs before Hilly Kristal personally went outside to remove the “C” from the venue marquee to prevent anything so horrible as their music from ever happening on the premises again. She passed away peacefully in her sleep after watching a new documentary about the New York punk scene in the seventies, which immortalized Rubber Hoof as having “nearly killed the fledgling scene while it was barely even started.”

Ms. Lorenstein is survived by her husband Ken, children Bobby and Penelope, and the surviving members of Rubber Hoof who, unlike her, have scrubbed every trace of the CBGBs night from their memories with industrial acid.