Rhonda Faye “Exxon” Mullins fishtailed into glory last Tuesday night, courtesy of the self-propelled riding mower she’d hot-wired for “porch-parkin’ practice.” Witnesses say the mower—still stuck in donut mode—dragged her across three manicured cul-de-sacs of Santa Claus, Georgia (pop. 204) before launching her through Pastor Tunny’s inflatable nativity. Neighbors agree she’s “gone home to Jesus, fuel fumes and all.”
Bless her heart, Rhonda leaves behind two ex-husbands, a Snapchat-famous Pomeranian, and an HOA citation for storing seventeen garden gnomes in the tub. Cousin Jolene swears she heard Rhonda shouting “Hold my Fresca!” seconds before the roar.
Mourners may pay respects Friday—please bring scratch-offs and lukewarm queso instead of flowers. The family will raffle off her singed velvet tracksuit.
Hidden to all but the nosiest: a half-melted citronella flamingo found clutched in her hand—surely harmless, unless someone lights it again.
