Difference between revisions of "Tillman Henderson/IF-92.158"

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== In Literature ==
+
===In Literature===
  
 
Following Henderson's incineration, [[Runolfio Peeper]] wrote "The Funeral of Tillman Henderson"
 
Following Henderson's incineration, [[Runolfio Peeper]] wrote "The Funeral of Tillman Henderson"
  
 
+
<blockquote>
The funeral was in a local dive
+
The funeral was in a local dive<br>
 
+
The only place where Tillman wasn’t banned<br>
The only place where Tillman wasn’t banned
+
He’d burnt most of his bridges while alive<br>
 
+
Now burnt himself, the crowd was less than grand<br>
He’d burnt most of his bridges while alive
+
<br>
 
+
Among those gathered, there were muttered thanks<br>
Now burnt himself, the crowd was less than grand
+
That we were finally rid this noxious pest.<br>
 
+
A lad stepped up, known for his youtube pranks<br>
+
He was the chosen speaker, he confessed.<br>
 
+
<br>
Among those gathered, there were muttered thanks
+
Turns out Tillman predicted his demise<br>
 
+
And so prepared for us some final words.<br>
That we were finally rid this noxious pest.
+
We found the opening was no surprise:<br>
 
+
“Hey welcome, mourners all, you lousy turds!”<br>
A lad stepped up, known for his youtube pranks
+
<br>
 
+
“I felt this day was coming,” Tillman wrote,<br>
He was the chosen speaker, he confessed.
+
“And knew I really couldn’t miss the chance.<br>
 
+
To take a moment for a swan-song gloat.<br>
+
You can’t call me a liar—check my pants!<br>
 
+
<br>
Turns out Tillman predicted his demise
+
“I bet I burnt much better than did Combs<br>
 
+
And just like Nora, death gave me no fear.<br>
And so prepared for us some final words.
+
I’m sure the Crabs will make me touching poems<br>
 
+
From the Hall of Flame, I’ll wipe those on my rear.<br>
We found the opening was no surprise:
+
<br>
 
+
“I’m getting bored of writing all this trash<br>
“Hey welcome, mourners all, you lousy turds!”
+
Thinking of you guys all sad just makes me sick<br>
 
+
I really wish I weren’t a pile of ash<br>
+
So I could tell you all to suck my…” quick<br>
 
+
Footsteps echoed in the hall outside<br>
“I felt this day was coming,” Tillman wrote,
+
And for a long moment nobody spoke<br>
 
+
As if in a dream Tillman hadn’t died—<br>
“And knew I really couldn’t miss the chance.
+
That he would walk in and reveal the joke.<br>
 
+
<br>
To take a moment for a swan-song gloat.
+
But it was only Tillman’s father, late,<br>
 
+
Who shuffled in with his starched suit and stayed<br>
You can’t call me a liar—check my pants!
+
Just long enough so that he could extricate<br>
 
+
The keys to his son’s orange Escalade.<br>
+
<br>
 
+
And then, with little else to say, we left,<br>
“I bet I burnt much better than did Combs
+
Crab teammates held Tillman’s urn up high<br>
 
+
Like a championship trophy, and heft<br>
And just like Nora, death gave me no fear.
+
His remains to where Tillman would lie.<br>
 
+
<br>
I’m sure the Crabs will make me touching poems
+
We laid him as he asked behind the lot<br>
 
+
Where the city buried all its toxic waste<br>
From the Hall of Flame, I’ll wipe those on my rear.
+
And then we gave some mighty spits—we thought<br>
 
+
This gesture would be much to Tillman’s taste.<br>
+
<br>
 
+
As we walked away we sang a cheery tune,<br>
“I’m getting bored of writing all this trash
+
To honor what from Tillman we had learned:<br>
 
+
That death comes unexpected and too soon,<br>
Thinking of you guys all sad just makes me sick
 
 
 
I really wish I weren’t a pile of ash
 
 
 
So I could tell you all to suck my…” quick
 
 
 
Footsteps echoed in the hall outside
 
 
 
And for a long moment nobody spoke
 
 
 
As if in a dream Tillman hadn’t died—
 
 
 
That he would walk in and reveal the joke.
 
 
 
 
 
 
But it was only Tillman’s father, late,
 
 
 
Who shuffled in with his starched suit and stayed
 
 
 
Just long enough so that he could extricate
 
 
 
The keys to his son’s orange Escalade.
 
 
 
 
 
 
And then, with little else to say, we left,
 
 
 
Crab teammates held Tillman’s urn up high
 
 
 
Like a championship trophy, and heft
 
 
 
His remains to where Tillman would lie.
 
 
 
 
 
 
We laid him as he asked behind the lot
 
 
 
Where the city buried all its toxic waste
 
 
 
And then we gave some mighty spits—we thought
 
 
 
This gesture would be much to Tillman’s taste.
 
 
 
 
 
 
As we walked away we sang a cheery tune,
 
 
 
To honor what from Tillman we had learned:
 
 
 
That death comes unexpected and too soon,
 
 
 
 
And life is best enjoyed before we’re burned.
 
And life is best enjoyed before we’re burned.
 +
</blockquote>

Latest revision as of 00:04, 22 December 2021

Rumor / Community Lore
This article contains lore created collaboratively by the Blaseball community. It is just one of many Rumors that we've found in the Interdimensional Rumor Mill. You can find more Rumors about Tillman Henderson at their Rumor Registry.


In Literature

Following Henderson's incineration, Runolfio Peeper wrote "The Funeral of Tillman Henderson"

The funeral was in a local dive
The only place where Tillman wasn’t banned
He’d burnt most of his bridges while alive
Now burnt himself, the crowd was less than grand

Among those gathered, there were muttered thanks
That we were finally rid this noxious pest.
A lad stepped up, known for his youtube pranks
He was the chosen speaker, he confessed.

Turns out Tillman predicted his demise
And so prepared for us some final words.
We found the opening was no surprise:
“Hey welcome, mourners all, you lousy turds!”

“I felt this day was coming,” Tillman wrote,
“And knew I really couldn’t miss the chance.
To take a moment for a swan-song gloat.
You can’t call me a liar—check my pants!

“I bet I burnt much better than did Combs
And just like Nora, death gave me no fear.
I’m sure the Crabs will make me touching poems
From the Hall of Flame, I’ll wipe those on my rear.

“I’m getting bored of writing all this trash
Thinking of you guys all sad just makes me sick
I really wish I weren’t a pile of ash
So I could tell you all to suck my…” quick
Footsteps echoed in the hall outside
And for a long moment nobody spoke
As if in a dream Tillman hadn’t died—
That he would walk in and reveal the joke.

But it was only Tillman’s father, late,
Who shuffled in with his starched suit and stayed
Just long enough so that he could extricate
The keys to his son’s orange Escalade.

And then, with little else to say, we left,
Crab teammates held Tillman’s urn up high
Like a championship trophy, and heft
His remains to where Tillman would lie.

We laid him as he asked behind the lot
Where the city buried all its toxic waste
And then we gave some mighty spits—we thought
This gesture would be much to Tillman’s taste.

As we walked away we sang a cheery tune,
To honor what from Tillman we had learned:
That death comes unexpected and too soon,
And life is best enjoyed before we’re burned.