It is with nearly unbearable sadness, agony, and disbelief that I inform you that John Edwards—my loving husband and a faithful servant of the people—is dead. We believe he passed away early this afternoon after consuming part of a package of Cremini Poison Mushrooms he had apparently purchased from the corner store here in Raleigh. He was excited about them, sure, but I am also aware that he had led readers of his blog to believe he ate the mushrooms directly off the ground while frolicking in a field. I fear that this was not possible, since I was with him that entire morning, and he may have been hallucinatory as he neared his death later that day.

Those many of us enamored with his cuteness might take solace, however, in knowing he died curled up in a ball, and with his thumb in his mouth, in the treehouse in our backyard. Or we might find a bit to adore in knowing that on the treehouse floor he arranged the bag's remaining mushrooms in the forms of cars, houses, and people, creating in essence that "society of happy fluff, of fluffy goodness" he worked so hard to build in real life. May John forever frollic in his fields of fluffy mushrooms, cotton puffs, and the burning blossoms of his love for America.

And his poop? I assure you that it was fluffy beyond compare, spilled out from his decaying body like fresh snow. It was a fitting end, though brown, and terribly smelly.

Best regards,

Elizabeth Edwards

PS - I can't over-emphasize how much I discourage eating these mushrooms:

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