Samuel Robert Grittner passed away last night, October 31st, the year of our lord, 2096 at the age of 104-years. Police have officially ruled out suicide and are simply calling it, “death by zamboni.” The zamboni is unharmed.
Sam was born May 6th, 1982 in the rabble-rouser town of St. Paul, MN to Fred “Boom Boom” Grittner and Theresa “I’ll Eat Your Face Off” Lippert. He was a proud graduate of St. Paul Central High Scool, class of Before 9/11.
Sam had a variety of jobs throughout his life: he was a writer, comedian, pet sitter, expert embalmer, life coach, death coach, couch coach, coach coach, French Stewart impersonator, humble freelance assassin, buxom cobbler, precious midwife, professional drifter, loan shark, loan dolphin, loan goldfish, surly lifeguard, door-to-door walkie talkie salesman, and gentleman beekeeper.
To his family, Sam was a brother, son, uncle, sister, and unabashed Stepford wife.
To his friends, he was a morning DJ at night, proud flat earth truther, and sexually gratifying gargoyle.
His passions included swimming, photography, teaching orphans how to embezzle government funds, cooking, needlepoint, riding horses on the tops of trains when the moon was nowhere to be seen, and reading.
On any given day Sam could be found watching old episodes of The Sopranos, scissoring, or destroying his enemies over a period of decades using a facade of niceness to cover his sadistic yet simplistic tendencies.
After spending his early years battling an overwhelming addiction to drugs, alcohol, and underground Dog Fight Clubs, Sam eventually turned his life around and got sober. With this clarity he found his true calling: doing charitable work and fundraising for causes that truly needed it. The Sam Grittner Foundation was established in 2024 and would go on to pave the way to raise over $1,000,000 for “Clowns Without Faces” the organization that, today, is synonymous with helping homeless clowns get the makeup they so desperately need. Sam also setup the “Wicka-Wicka-What Fund”, which was the first-ever needle exchange program for DJ’s in the Northern Hemisphere.
Sam believed as a citizen, it was his duty to fight for basic rights. He became a tireless advocate for crying in the shower and it was this passion that led him to get over forty municipalities in eastern New Jersey to adopt the “No Shame In The Drain” act, which declared that a public shower be built every twenty miles to ensure that any citizen could curl up in the fetal position and ball their eyes out in a safe, public space with optimized minimization of hairs of the pubic nature.
Sam truly lived a wonderful life and enriched anyone who came in contact with him, whether it was sharing a meal with an old friend or driving a fellow addict to the nearest planetarium, Sam was there.
If it was reading books to blind trees, baking banana bread for a new neighbor, or helping best an adversary that you were pretty sure was actively plotting against you, Sam was there.
If it was giving free underground tours of New York’s sewer system to tourists, introducing said tourists to the Mole King, making them fight the Mole King to death, and seeing their faces light up when they were declared the final savior to the Mole people, Sam was there.
He is survived by his wife, former President Rihanna and their two children, That’s Yahtzee, Bitch! and Chewbacca Jr.
A formal service of remembrance will be held at the Red Lobster in Times Square.
Sam went out the same way he came into this world, covered in blood and screaming. Let us remember him by his last words: “Oh god, oh god, why is this taking so long?”