Jonathan Dent, 22, apparently died early Friday morning, December 2, 2016 in Oklahoma Baptist University. He was found face down, forehead acting as a paperweight for the mass of textbooks and annotated articles that circled his body. It was most likely another case of the typical finals-related death, but there is a chance Mr. Dent opted to use his diminishing time and energy instead to research and acquire complex neurotoxins capable of simulating a complete cessation in pulse.

In any case, he will leave behind all of his possessions and people he knew, either due to his death or the assumption of his new identity. These include, but are not limited to, 91 main console Nintendo games (handhelds were unavailable for systematizing,) close friends who may or may not have been associating with him purely for his editing abilities, and a general sense of contented bewilderment.

Born and raised in the greater Houston area, as opposed to the lesser, he was the son of Michael and Cheryl Dent, both religious watchers of late-night television, and brother to Amber, a home giver to stray animals.

In his early years, Mr. Dent cannot remember much besides a vague yearning for dairy products and an innate ability to communicate with animals and the supernatural.

After reaching the age appropriate for entry into Pre-K, the paranormal aspects of his life waned, but this was luckily inversely related to his affinity for dairy. He made a lifetime of school, (against his will, perhaps,) but was still involved in a plethora of activities during his extended duration. There was the Environmental Club for one spring, which he joined to get closer to a girl, as well as a short foray into choir, in no small part due to the Sea World Trip at the end of the year, and maybe the most impressive was his division II intramural flag football team making it to the quarterfinals.

Mr. Dent had a passion for quoting movies. In social gatherings, he would do recon over the types of people who were attending and the films they would most likely be interested in. He would create a notecard full of possible references and repeat a phrase, mostly in the semi-appropriate accent, whenever a break in the conversation set him up. If the one-liners failed, he would attempt to moonwalk out of the situation and enforce a minimum three week ban on attending anything remotely communal.

An avid proponent of zombie preparedness, he was a longtime member of underground networks in both Texas and Oklahoma dedicated to getting the world ready for the inevitable apocalypse. Mr. Dent even held the office of Secretary to the Secretary of The Improvement of Weapons Knowledge. His duties mostly revolved around passing out strips of paper with facts printed on them about various weapons to random citizens.

A date has yet to be set on the funeral service, as the family’s legal team is getting bogged down with the legalities of possibly having a corpse shot into space. He did, however, prepare a playlist for the service well in advance of his alleged demise.