It finally happened. They warned him over and over and over again that eating all those hamburgers would kill him. Wimpy wouldn’t listen. His love for burgers and their resultant effect on him took his life when he let loose a long, roaring fart — filled with methane gas, just as he turned on the faulty ignition.
Poof! The flames smelled like barbecued hamburgers. His friends did not like hamburgers and walked away to the nearest hot dog vendor where they ate, drank and were happy for Wimpy that he died doing what he liked best — eating burgers and farting.
If I had no sense of humour, I would long ago have committed suicide.