John, a man who could make a nun blush with his questionable jokes, and a squirrel question its own sanity with his bird-watching skills, has finally laid down his binoculars and traded his comfy armchair for a six-foot-long box.

He was a master of the art of procrastination, a champion of "later" and the patron saint of "I'll do it tomorrow." His life was a testament to the adage "it's not the destination, it's the journey," even if that journey was mostly him getting sidetracked by squirrels and shiny objects.

John leaves behind a legacy of unfinished projects, half-eaten sandwiches, and a collection of socks that would make a rainbow jealous. He was loved (mostly) and will be missed (sometimes) by his family, friends, and the local squirrel population, who are now free to hoard all the birdseed they can handle.

Rest in peace, John. You'll be missed, even if we're not sure what we'll miss you for.

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