“I couldn't live a week without a private library
- indeed, I'd part with all my furniture and squat and sleep on the floor
before I'd let go of the 1500 or so books I possess.” ― H.P. Lovecraft

Whistling In The Graveyard: June 28, 2009

Friday, July 03, 2009

So I started to write about David Carradine dying and then Farrah Fawcett died.

So I started to write about her too and then Ed McMahon died.

So I started to add him too and then Michael Jackson died and everyone in the world acted like they gave a shit.

So I added Jackson to the list and then Jeff Goldblum died.

So in the middle of adding him to the list he went on the Colbert Report to say he wasn't really dead.

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And after all this I heard that Billy Mays died.

Why did I hear that Billy Mays died? I have no idea. See, some of you may know Mays from a long line of annoying infomercials or from his equally annoying TV show about MAKING infomercials (dear God I wish I was creative enough to make up fiction stranger than that) and for some fucking reason he's a celebrity. All he ever did was sell cheap shit to people that don't need it and that makes him famous?

Not only famous, but in memory of him they ran an impromptu marathon of his annoying ass show that then proceeded to pre-empt one of my favorite shows in the history of ever; Mythbusters.

I mean, lets do the list here. David Carradine was a fine actor who, not too long ago, turned in one of his finest performances in the Kill Bill movies.

Not just that, but he fought Brandon Lee.

He fought Rick Springfield (you know you want to).

He even fought CHUCK NORRIS!

And he didn't just fight him, he fought him in a sweater! A COSBY SWEATER!!! Thus, he is worth of remembrance. Even though it is slightly possible that his death might have been accidental while masturbating, which is pretty fucking embarrassing.

And seriously people, the choking oneself to make masturbation better? You're not supposed to make masturbation better! It's MASTURBATING! It's fucking great already! The only thing that can make it any better at all is getting someone else to do it for you though that only works if they're good at it.

Then there was Farrah Fawcett. Yes, she used to be hot. I really can't say a whole lot more about her than that because I really don't know more about her than that. Charlies Angels was pretty awesome. There. That's like everything I know about her. No, wait, she used to be married to Lee Majors. There, that's everything. Quite frankly I was less surprised to hear that she'd died than I was to hear that she'd still been alive up to that point.

Then there's Ed McMahon. Another person who's claim to fame kind of eludes me, but he didn't annoy me and, let's face it, that takes some skill.

And then Michael Jackson. What the fuck can I say about Michael Jackson that hasn't already been said. Good stuff was said about him when he was a young, talented, black man. Then bad stuff was said about him when he was an older, rich, white woman, and now that he's dead he's practically up for sainthood.

Here's my stance on Jackson. He was a profoundly fucked up person. STUPENDOUSLY fucked up. The kind of fucked up that makes Courtney Love feel better about herself. I know I'll miss him personally if only for missing the anticipation of what fucked up thing he was going to do next. I've long had sympathy for him because he's one of the few people in Hollywood that honestly wasn't to blame for how fucked up he was and I know I'm not alone in that sympathy because it's been all over the news since he died. Problem is, people are confusing sympathy with... well, fucked if I know what they're confusing it with, but come on, Thriller was a great fucking album and then, after that (if you're an American anyway) you fucking forgot about him. None of these people mourning his death bought any more of his albums, you just openly mocked his weirdness. Yes, I did it too, but I'm admitting it you hypocritical bastards. You can't villainize him as a pedophile (which, despite a LOT of fucking evidence was never really proven) while he's alive and then go on about how great he was when he's dead.

Because I have a sense of proportion, when I think of Michael, I will try to remember this:

Instead of this:

But as much as he used to be a talented artist you can't forget little social faux-pas like dangling babies from hotel balconies. Even the fucking Sex Pistols had more propriety than that. Remember, just because it's possible that someone might not be responsible for how fucked up they are (a rare thing, but it's what we're dealing with here) it doesn't excuse all the fucked up things they did after getting all fucked up.

Now Jeff Goldblum, well I really can't sum up his life as he's not dead. I mean, I like a lot of what he's done up to this point, but he might do something really fucked up to taint it before he's really dead, so I'm reserving judgment.

For now...

In the meantime, here's this thing:

So what did Billy Mays bring the world? A whole bunch of this:

And his fucking show:

You know, when he died I said on my Facebook page (YES, I got one of those fucking things now) that I wasn't glad he was dead. Now that everyone has gone on and on about what a great guy he was and how talented he was I've changed my mind.

Burn in hell you fucking schill. Nobody comes between me and a dose of sweet, sweet Kari Byron...

Oh yeah, Happy July 4th everyone. Even if you aren't American. Use it as an excuse to have a barbecue, get drunk and blow something up.

Unless we're currently blasting the shit out of your country. If that's the case then skip step three. It's probably be hard for you to find something new to blow up anyways.

I'll be out at Mom's from the 3rd till the 7th. If you've got my number, use it.

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