John phoned his mum, she was always reasonably grounded, she always helped him when his imagination carried his fancy away, and by the third call, Mum John picked it up.
"If I may continue telling you about my day," said Dr Deep Voice, glaring at Clark, "the patch itself served to remind John that he was a hostage to blindness, the wheels underneath him and how he longed to be underneath the wheels of the train once and for all... cutting... mincing..."
John woke up as the old, ugly, overweight, smelly nurse, with the characteristic warts on her eyelids, finished pressing her pudgy cunt to his lips, apparently this was what Nurse Teresa did for kicks at night; she had climaxed several times.
While dressing herself up, she bared her beautifully tinted teeth and seductively acted coy to the visibly disgusted John, and said, "Your mum is next, handsome..."
John didn't seem to understand that his Earthly body was dead and part of the humus, possibly because as an atheist he couldn't cope with the reality of the afterlife.
Or perhaps he was reincarnated as a higher form of life, like a hemp plant that was soon cut down and burnt by police, but not before numerous unwelcome liaisons involving unattractive nurses with a flora fetish.
In fact John didn't have a clue what the fuck was going on and actually he spent most of his time pondering why John was sometimes spelt with an 'H' and sometimes spelt without one.
Had John been alive, he might have been touched by the lengths to which his former acquaintances, in the depths of their denial, went to preserve the collective delusion that he had not ended his days as duckshit.
Suddenly, John felt his duckshit body being swept into a plastic bag, and a firm, Canadian voice say, "Don't worry, my little panda pal, I'm gonna do whatever it takes to turn you back into the panda I love!"
If John had been alive, he would have been relieved that this was impossible except in the bizarre imaginings of the hairy Canadan, as the whole suicide mission was inordinately long and frustrating for him before its eventual success.
Denial - the first, most resistant stage of bereavement - was playing strange, warping tricks on the minds of those who had known John when he was alive.
As Logan sped his motorcycle on intently toward the Baxter Building (and the one man alive who might able to resurrect John back to his panda self), he started to sob.
He knew there were any number of men dead who might able to resurrect John back to his panda self, and this gave him a second option when he found the Baxter Building had been demolished to make way for a new wetlands development featuring an incredible number of carnivorous assassin ducks.
Luckily, Lobdell strolled by at the precise moment and he gave an affirmative answer to his once personal puppet, before a particularly nasty accident happened involving the aforementioned carnivorous assassin ducks, and Claremont's minions of fatbeard geeks.
Meanwhile in an spiritual afterlife that he has always refused to believe in, one full of golden columns of light and beautifully-scented latex-clad concubines and the music of the Smiths, John finally admitted that he'd ended up in Paradise.
