Stewart Richard "Stew" Comstock

'Twas a bright October morn when the evil flying monkeys at last succeeded their villainous quest to drag my father from his peaceful suburban life back to yon primate realm and crown him their one true king. He has left behind one wicked witch (58), two miserable wretches (27 and 24), a sister (68), and two cats.
The tale of the monkey king is one to rival Gilgamesh's, but I shall endeavor to summarize here.
The tale thus begins with the once-and-future monkey king born squalling into this world on a day often considered a national holiday. Though Merryland was not his point of origin it was the location (between frequent trips Elsewhere) he most called home. His father was a Navy boy and his mother I have been warned on numerous occasions not disclose anything ever. I've heard a pope is involved. A mystery.
What I can tell you is our young prince did twice survive chicken pox with all the amalgamate horrors of youth. He attained the rank of Eagle Scout in service to the Eagle lord. He ran a marathon. He played tuba.
Life took a turn for the cornfield-est upon his attendance to Ohio State University to study rocks [geology]. Life took a turn for the merriest upon his return to Merryland to study whatever it is engineers actually do. Spreadsheets? I bet it's spreadsheets. Or the etiquette thereof [civil engineering]. Eventually he found his calling staring at wet rocks for the Merry Department of the Environment. Rain falls on the rocks and there's lots of laws about it. It's very cool.
He frolicked through the woods with friends and alcohol one September night when he was accosted by a strange West Virginian with great assets. She gave him her number and, after days and weeks of consideration, she hunted him down at his office to ask him out for real. What followed was a courtship described as "horrific", "deranged", and "utterly bizarre" by his mother and "aw, you two are weirdly perfect for each other" by everyone else. They were wed on a day which was not the anniversary of the day they met, to the confusion of themselves and all others for the rest of time. It was a killer party.
Eventually they spawned, the details of which I dearly wish I didn't know, and so the questionably evil but certainly wingless monkey typing this obituary was brought into this world. Wretched, squalling, on a day which is occasionally a national holiday as well. Then they did it again and it is the opinion of the writer that the birthdate of Thing #2 be a national holiday as well. With cake :) Then the ugly little wretches were raised in an ugly little wretched home filled with love and sunlight and cake. And they were all happy. Mostly. C'est la vie. But despite the hardships of la vie the noble monkey-prince persisted on.
Rain god curses. Five hurricanes. Four broken legs (not his). Proficiency gained in several forms of advanced combat and ensuring his family learned the same. Cultivating an appreciation for instruments of bass destruction and ensuring his family gained the same. Once even, valiantly, slaying a dread serpent which snuck into the chamber pot of his home.
Thing #1 graduated with a degree of forcing rocks to do math in the Spring of '19. He now lives in Oregon fondling robots and staring at really big rocks on the weekends. Thing #2 is still amidst his "good corporate slave" training and is expected to begin nothing suspicious at all, Officer, this Spring.
Then yesterday while I debated if fishnets were "work-appropriate attire" the evil flying monkeys burst in through the kitchen window and carried my father off into the mid-late morning dawn. I hope you're well there Dad. We'll miss you.