Ahh, the human condition. What a racket, right? So often it feels like just as soon as we start figuring it all out, we gotta start planning for our exits. It seems that, in the end, all we can really hope for is to make this place a little better than we found it and, if we’re lucky, leave behind a bitchin’ obit. It is without further ado that we introduce to you just such a human being who recently shuffled off this mortal coil: Meet Uncle Bunky. Or, technically, meet the memory of Uncle Bunky, who unfortunately tucked into his “dirt nap” (his words, not ours) earlier this month at the age of 65.
There’s been a lot of good obits out there over the years, but this one enters into a category of high art rarely seen in your average death announcement. Randall “Uncle Bunky” Jacobs appears to have lived just the kind of life someone with the nickname “Uncle Bunky” (or “The Bunkster”) would live: “a living, breathing ‘hang loose sign” who regularly carved “fresh lines” into the mountain slopes of Colorado.
“A prolific purveyor of Bunky-isms such as ‘Save it, clown!’ (Or ‘Zeebo’ if he was in a mood), he would mercilessly tease his ‘goombatz’ nephews,’” reads the obituary, making it sound like The Ol’ Bunkster was the living, breathing embodiment of a ‘80s-era ski party film.
In a strange twist, this snow lodge badass image was soon confirmed by one of Uncle Bunky’s actual nephews, who not only owned up to authoring the obituary, but then proceeded to regale Twitter with even more gnarly tales of Mr. Jacobs.
One time “he pulled out a sawed-off shotgun from the trunk of his sled and told me it was ‘hot’ (I had no idea what that meant) and then proceeded to play Metallica’s ‘Ride the Lightning’ while we emptied a buckshot’s gunpowder on the ground and it lit it on fire,” Chris Santa Maria remembers, adding “it was insane,” which we assume is a bit of an understatement.
Godspeed, Uncle Bunky. Godspeed.
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