GOODBYE TO THE BIGGUNS — A Farewell to Our Fapping Friend

If ever there was a beloved brotha whose words of wank wisdom touched the hearts of thousands and helped to steer the self-abuse of his legions of lecherous followers, Leroy Bigguns was that brotha. A rising star on the raunchy writing staph of WHACK! Magazine, our dearly loved, deeply disturbed, poignantly perverse, slightly obese, but ever so sweet Bigguns has passed on to a better place. Bigguns is now with the big-titted angels of South Park Heaven, most likely partying with Chef and a bevy of beautifully bosomed, fat-bottomed girls.

Bigguns was discovered in his home last week after several weeks of unnerving silence in the Bigguns Blather column. He’d been dead for only a few hours when a visiting hooker… er… we mean… friend found him face down on the floor, apparently having fallen victim to a raging case of explosive Chlamydia — a chronic and very rare condition he’d picked up on a visit to his favorite brothel in Birmingham and had been battling valiantly for some time. According to police and autopsy reports, the Chlamydia had finally made its way from his groin up to his head and had actually reached his eyeballs, causing them to burst forth dramatically from their sockets when he reached his last — and we hope, most intense ever — orgasm. The disease gets its “explosive” moniker from this last, tragic, killing swoop of ocular explosion.

Bigguns will be remembered, however, not for his ignominious death (which, it has to be said, might be gross but is pretty fuckin’ bad ass, too) but for his noble, knob-knuckling life. Bigguns, a 1987 graduate of Shelton State Community College in Tuscaloosa, Alabama, with an associate’s degree in refrigeration and air conditioning technology and continuing education certificates in wellness instruction, barbering, and emergency medical technicianship, was a true pillar of his Southern Baptist community. He attended weekly Sunday services at his local church, where his deaconship was just recently revoked, alas, when the minister got wind of his work here at WHACK! Magazine.

We here at WHACK! are heartbroken to have heard of his early and tragic passing, but we shall always remember “The Bigguns” as we first met him: face down in a pair of giant titties outside a Wu-Tang show where he’d been picketing the downfall of black culture with a local chapter of the NAAGM (the National Association for the Advancement of Gospel Music). Seeing one of our own in his anti-hip-hop motorboating frenzy, we brought the Bigguns into the fold of our own, WHACK!-y cleavage, and never looked back. He will be remembered for his words of wisdom in Bigguns Blather, teaching his readers everything from proper gay club etiquette to the best in live action Smurf porn to calculating the vaginal mileage of your average tramp. Truly, a more inventively depraved mind has never been seen, nor a more avid consumer of Southern-style barbeque or big brown beavers.

Rest easy, Bigguns. We hope your head is forever nestled in a pair of big, black, bulbous boobies (Ella Fitzgerald’s, perhaps?) in the clothing-optional choir loft in the Sky.