So this weekend I took some time out of my beer drinking (I switched to gin) to do one last Caught on Chatroulette. At the time, I held out hope that I could save this sinking ship, but alas, I was incorrect as usual. I spent a full hour on Chatroulette, and it was more of a self-flagellation than research on a story. To spout the details of the experiences my tenacity forced me to toil with would only further my embarrassment and present a total for which to assign the amount of penises I have seen online since March. So for my own sanity, I give to you: Chatroulette Is Dead: A Celebrity Obituary.
Well, George Steinbrenner is dead. May the Devil sodomize him slowly, yet powerfully. Now, The Drizzle is a Red Sox fan, but I’m not really a big Yankee-Hater. Like everyone, I look forward to seeing them come up on the schedule, but there isn’t really the pure hatred that I see in the hearts of others. As I listen to WEEI, Dale Arnold is saying that he is saddened by the loss of Steinbrenner, and I’m sure most of Red Sox Nation will echo those regards. But I know that is a lot of bullshit. You were all secretly loving the fact that Georgie was sitting down in Florida, laying down on a vibrating lady bug that his sons found in The Weekly Special. That’s why you have your boy, The Drizzle. I will say all of the things you are too much of a pussy to say yourself. You’re welcome, children.
Our options for which Golden Girl to bang has reached its last gasp of limitation. Yes it’s true, children, Rue McClanahan is dead. The lust-lorn spark plug that inspired a generation of nine year old boys to think about having sex with an awkwardly older woman has finally hit the money shot. She’s with Gary now.
It’s difficult to put into perspective just how significant Dennis Hopper’s life was. Sure, he was no Gary Coleman, Cory Haim, or even Boner from Growing Pains. Dennis Hopper was a man that found success in Easy Rider and parlayed it into a million dollar project where he was able to get effed up in Peru for months (See The Last Movie).
I never loved Dennis Hopper. I never imagined him giving me fictional advice as I do with John Stamos and JJ from Good Times. However, I will remember that terrifying night when I laid in bed, staring at the ceiling after I watched Blue Velvet for the first time.
If Harrison Ford has the best weed in Hollywood, then Dennis Hopper has the best coke in Heaven.
See you soon, Denny.
<3 The Drizzle
A little piece of America died last week when a little black man died in America. I remember when he used to go up and down the dumbwaiter and stay up late with Mr. Papadopoulos to watch Monday Night Football…oh wait…that was Webster…Gary Coleman was the one that was molested in the back of the bike shop (Different Strokes Episode #114, “The Bicycle Man”)…my B, yo.
Well someone in an office somewhere hit the jack pot in the death pool this morning, because Corey Haim is dead…and so are his dreams to win an Academy Award.
Do you think just before Andrew Koenig killed himself he said, “Come on, Boner. You can do this”