The Inevitable Demise of Reginald Piffle

Reginald Piffle lived his life with the solemn dedication of a man convinced that death was merely a preventable design flaw. He wore a helmet while buttering toast, insisted on organic, free-range, gluten-free, anti-oxidant-rich, sustainably-sourced air, and never left the house without his multi-terrain, impact-resistant, self-inflating full-body bubble suit. He micro-dosed rare Amazonian tree bark, meditated exclusively in a Faraday cage, and had his entire home soundproofed to prevent any sudden loud noises that might rupture a vital organ. His goal: live forever, or at least long enough to see the heat death of the universe from a comfortable, climate-controlled bunker.

One Tuesday, after successfully navigating his automated, anti-fall, zero-gravity shower (which, admittedly, had once malfunctioned and nearly jettisoned him through the roof), Reginald decided to treat himself to a celebratory single, hand-churned, artisanal, sugar-free, anti-inflammatory date truffle. He carefully unwrapped it, ensuring no airborne pathogens could land on its pristine surface, and raised it towards his mouth.

It was then that the irony of existence, perhaps bored by his excessive precautions, decided to make a dramatic entrance. A rogue asteroid, barely larger than a golf ball, but possessing an unfortunate trajectory, pierced his roof, his Faraday cage, his bubble suit, and indeed, Reginald Piffle himself, with surgical precision. It was later discovered to be a fragment of a long-extinct Martian microbe colony, thus ensuring Reginald's legacy as the most sterile man ever to be introduced to extraterrestrial life, and simultaneously, the unluckiest. His last thought, if he had one, was probably, "Damn, I knew I should have invested in a thicker roof."