DRUNKEN RESIDENT KILLED IN COMICAL CATAPULT MISHAP
Bobby Roy bursts into flames on impact, attracts fire trucks

There ain't much to tell about the life of Bobby Roy, a 350-pound drunk who spent the vast majority of his time passed out in his trailer. Nobody'd seen hide nor hair of that fat alkie for months, except for when he'd stagger out the driveway and up the highway to  get more hooch. Other than that Jeep-related grandma-flattening incident a while back, Bobby Roy led a uneventful life.  His death, on the other hand, was certainly eventful. Eventful and then some.

Bobby Roy and Carl Bailey was next-door neighbors and drinking buddies.  Both of them spent every waking hour either trying to get their hands on alcohol, or consuming as much of it in as little time as possible.  

Carl Bailey bought a shitload of generic bourbon with that check the state gives him every month for rendering himself unemployable with alcohol. He and Bobby Roy sat in Carl's trailer and drank ever' last drop of state-financed hooch. Then, when it all  ran out, them two drunks managed to stumbledy-bumble all the way down to the duckpond.

Bobby Roy wanted to head over to the bar at Buzzards and drink some more. He weren't in no shape to walk there, and the battery was dead in the Jeep from when he left the lights on that one time.  Carl told Bobby Roy about riding the catapult. Carl explained that he went dumpster-diving for castoff mattresses to be used as a landing pad in the field next door.

Carl then explained that they should use something a little heavier than a fridge to launch Bobby Roy, since the fridge only sends a body into the field next door.  Buzzards is clear over on the other side of the duckpond.

Rotund Bobby Roy weighed as much as two Carls. The fridge we been using as a counterweight ain't nearly heavy enough to launch Bobby Roy clear over to Buzzards. Even them two drunken dipshits figured that out. Carl suggested they fill that fridge with rocks, so's it'd be heavy enough to heave all 350 pounds of Bobby Roy way over to the bar at Buzzards.

The two of them commenced to filling the fridge with rocks. Then Carl wheeled the rock-laden fridge up the creaking and groaning ramp to the top of the platform. Bobby Roy straddled the teeter-totter seat opposite the ramp.

Carl suddenly remembered that we all been launching flaming shit onto Buzzards. Not wanting to waste a perfectly good catapult launch, Carl quickly threw together a Molotov cocktail out of a Coke bottle, some paint thinner and a grease rag.  Then he lit it and handed it to Bobby Roy, instructing him to drop the Molotov cocktail on Buzzards right before he starts descending towards the bar.

Even with all them rocks in that fridge, it STILL weren't nearly heavy enough to fling Bobby Roy onto Buzzards. Not even CLOSE. He did manage to fly farther than Carl does when he rides the catapult, though not a whole lot farther.  Bobby Roy got launched right past all them mattresses and bellyflopped onto the ground with a great big SPLAT.  Unfortunately, Bobby Roy had that alkie-reflex deathgrip on the Molotov cocktail, so he never did let go of the bottle.  Both that Molotov cocktail and Bobby Roy burst into flames on impact.

Since he'd been pickled in his trailer for who knows how long, Bobby Roy's bodily tissues was just SATURATED in ethanol.  Ethanol's the alcohol what's in booze. It's about as flammable as paint thinner.

Bobby Roy screeeeeeamed as he flew through the air and then splatted into the weeds and mud and cattails and duckshit at the edge of the duckpond. He laid there burning and burning and burning, despite all them flame-snuffing chemicals the firemen shot all over him.  

It took four solid hours for Bobby Roy to quit smoldering. When he finally got done, there weren't even enough of him left to cremate.  All that was left of Bobby Roy was a big, fat impression of him burnt into the mud next to the duckpond. The coroner told us ol' Bobby Roy got sublimated and reduced to gases elemental carbon, whatever the fuck that means.

None of us knew mud could get that hard when it's burned for hours and hours. The firemen explained to us it's just like one of them pottery kilns what turns clay into hard ceramic glass or something like that.

We hear tell Bobby Roy's impression is likely going to stay burnt into that scorched mud for millions and millions of years to come.  You can even see his faceprint clearly, except for his nose being smashed a lot flatter than it was the last time we all seen it.  But them eyebrow prints is just as hunky and apelike as Bobby Roy's eyebrows was in real life.

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