Ben Vance, of Mansfield, Ohio, devoted husband and father, passed away on January 11. A family representative confirmed that he died, saying in a statement that it was sudden. He was 59.

No cause of death was given.

Ben will be remembered as a kind, generous person who deserved to die peacefully surrounded by his loved ones. But tragically, he did not.

You’re curious to know what happened, right? Sorry, the family did not want us to reveal how he perished. They have their reasons. All we can say is that his passing was sudden. Sudden, rather unpleasant, and presumably very painful.

Ben was taken from us too soon. 59 isn’t exactly young-young, but it’s not so old that age could have been a factor. So cross shingles off the list.

An avid motorcycle rider, Ben loved the freedom of the road. And before you jump to conclusions, no, that’s not how he died. You were totally picturing the burning wreckage, weren’t you?

Benjamin “Butterball” Vance was born in Columbus, Ohio, on September 4, 1963. Friends recall a big-hearted teddy bear with arteries as clean as a whistle, in case you’re wondering. And we know you are, nosy parker!

After graduating from Ohio Technical College, Ben joined Con Edison as an electrical powerline technician.

“Last time I saw Ben, he was climbing up a telephone pole during a thunderstorm. He’d do anything to protect the grid,” said his boss, Phil Brickman.

You didn’t just Google “Vance lightning strike,” did you? Of course you did. He wasn’t electrocuted, okay? His eyebrows were singed a little, but he was otherwise fine. Now please respect the family’s privacy during this extremely painful time.

In 1988, Ben met the love of his life, Martha (Prescott) Vance. They settled in Mansfield, where they raised their son, Steve, an aspiring “fugu” pufferfish chef.

“Dad was my biggest champion,” said Steve. “He loved everything I cooked for him, even my mistakes.”

Ben died after a brief illness.

Think you’ve figured it out? You know nothing. Hey snoopy—he had pneumonia. He was successfully treated, and then he died from something unrelated. Capisce?

Why are you so curious to know, anyway? If we confirmed that Ben was poisoned by an improperly prepared blowfish, would it make you feel superior? Would you think, Well, that was foolish. I’d never eat a deadly fish! Is judging poor Ben your way of controlling your fear of death?

You should be ashamed.

An avid birdwatcher, bridge player, and chainsaw juggler, Ben was a fun-loving person who enjoyed entertaining his friends.

“He was the life of the party,” said his neighbor Jim Barney, “He loved to knock back a few drinks and pull out the old chainsaws.”

And for the record, he never suffered a single injury. Never. Not a scratch.

While volunteering to coach hockey at the local high school, tragedy struck Ben. He was run over by a Zamboni. Yep, he died. Flattened like a pancake. Had to be scraped off the ice with a shovel. Happy now? Knowing how a stranger died—is that what you wanted?

Well, hate to disappoint you, but we were just kidding. Yeah, that was mean. But you deserved it.

We wouldn’t put it past you to try and contact one of his survivors, which includes his beloved wife, Martha; his loving son Steve; and his cherished pet, Cuddles, a thirty-foot python rescue.

Oh, so now you think that Ben was swallowed whole by a giant reptile? Well, he wasn’t. So get those morbid images of Cuddles’ bulging body out of your head right now!

In lieu of flowers, the family asks that donations be made to the “Please help us raise awareness of the importance of safety rails in bathtubs” GoFundMe account.

That’s not a clue, by the way. Or is it? Think we’d tell you, sicko?