We’ve seen it so many times it might as well be a children’s book.
See Shithead get famous.
See Shithead do drugs.
See Shithead die.
Die Shithead, Die.
Yet every single stupid time one of these steaming hot meadow muffins goes cold the world (or at least the internet and television) act like their insanely predictable demise was, like, the craziest thing EVER.
Obviously most recently there was Whitney Houston. Anyone who was legitimately shocked by that turd going belly up has obviously been living with their head in the toilet. And I know, “waaaahhh you don’t know it was drugs that killed her!” No whiny ass butt nugget in my head, I don’t. But even if a fucking ball of flaming feces dropped on her from outer space, the fact of the matter is hearing about her death didn’t cause even a moment of pause from my Cheeto-inhaling, softcore porn watching Saturday night. (Why soft porn? I like the storylines. Don’t judge me.) If the flaming turd bomb theory pans out then yes, my attention will be turned; my interest peaked; my bewilderment boner aroused. But the simple statement “Whitney Houston/Amy Winehouse/Michael Jackson/Anna Nicole Smith has been found dead” is even less shocking than the end of a M. Night Shyamalan shitshow. (Everyone knows The Sixth Sense is excluded from all M. Night jokes—how does the G.W. Bushism go? Fool me once, shame on…. Well, you know.)
And don’t jump down my throat for being a hater; with the exception of that gold-digging glob of guano Anna Nicole Smith ALL the above mentioned people were insanely talented. How they lived and died was excrementally sad. (Sorry there’s a poop pun quota to make.) And anyone who can’t empathize for those who eventually turn to drugs or depression as a means to deal with living under the media microscope is just a callous colostomy bag. But with that being said… come on. We all know from our 2nd Grade anti-drug presentations what happens when someone gets hooked on the booger sugar. Be sad if you need to, but flush the bewilderment bullshit.
Let’s focus on the REAL amazing feats of the fecally famous; as in, how the hell are these turds still kicking?
-Keith Richards. At age 68, this fanny fruit has ingested more drugs than have ever existed in the entire country of Columbia. Not only is he still alive, but he’s supposed to be touring with The Rolling Stones yet again this year. The fact that his heart still beats defies all laws of physics, chemistry, and reason. Sure he looks like he just walked off the set of The Walking Dead, but when the world finally ends it will be just him and cockroaches.
-Charlie Sheen. No explanation required, really. This butt baby must be immune to cocaine, HIV, and hepatitis. Hot Shot, indeed.
-Tina Yothers. Come on, would anyone really be surprised if Tina Yothers flushed herself? Half of you are saying, “WHO?” Exactly. Google it.
Then there are those celebrity deaths that were met with NO shock. Patrick Swayze; Farrah Fawcett. “But they had CANCER! That shit KILLS!” says that argumentative little fart flower in my head. Exactly. We’re somehow less surprised when people die of a seemingly random disease that defecates death on whomever it desires than if their own lifestyle does them in.
Society sucks shit.