11 July 2009

Two Eulogies

Celebrities dying affects us differently than when other folk die. That is a fact. Michael Jackson's death is still pissing me off. When I was a young punk rocker with a snot green attitude every time I heard a Michael Jackson song I wanted to blow up the world. Disco was shit and Michael Jackson was the Disco Shit King of Disco Shit Mountain. You would think I would be happy the disco fucker was dead. I'm not. As long as his heart kept beating he was slowly rusting away. Now that he has burned out the motherfucker is everywhere. Michael Jackson, the steaming hunk of shit, is going to be in my life until I die and join him in Never Never Land. It stinks.

David Carradine's death got to me too. David, unlike the steaming hunk of disco shit, was a lasting influence on my life. I would be a different man without the old Kung Fu tv series. He, not Bruce Lee, inspired me to take up Kung Fu and other martial arts. Without the martial arts my face would probably look a lot different now. I would probably look like Tiger Williams without the knowledge of Kung Fu.

When news of David Carradine's death and what he was obviously up to when he died reached me it got me thinking. Am I the only man on this planet who does not get dressed up in women's clothing, tie a belt around his neck so tight you run short on oxygen and make banana boat gravy? I already knew just about every man in town does this but I almost never thought about it. Now every time I see one of my neighbours on the street I imagine them in their wife's frock, choking themselves until they turn blue and having a good, sweaty masturbation. Despite this I still think David Carradine was one fuck of a guy. Rest in peace Grasshopper.

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