clouds made of chili cheese dogs

Dear Kirby, I know and understand that you apparently changed and influenced a lot of young people's lives. Growing up my stepbrother Tony would envy you and boast that one day he would become you. I, never a sports fan, really couldn't of cared less. I always thought you to be overweight and slightly cartoonish. But nevertheless, you charmed the good folk of Minnesota. As you got older, you lost your sight and decided that being a wife beater would be an excellent alternative to being a world series baseballer. Kirby, it was not you wife's fault for your grotesque weight gain or your newfound blindness. Maybe if you didn't eat so many chili cheese dogs you wouldn't have had a stroke.
Nothing personal Kirb, but now that my current employment has me surrounded in sports, your death has caused quite the brouhaha. The local news has people re-accounting their run-ins with you, "What a normal guy...he loved children..blah." I now have to deal with your death on a consistent basis until the good people are sick of it. Which I hope happens real soon.