By Adam

I’m very excited about writing this column, as I expect that the simple act of committing these thoughts to digital paper guarantees my entry into some sort of special hell reserved for people who devour the pain of others as sustenance.  Everything I’m about to discuss is just soul-numbingly tragic, but I’ve always found that if you can’t laugh at your son’s premature, preventable death, what the hell can you laugh at?  Let’s get this macabre ball rolling with a death that is, for all intents and purposes, pretty funny:


  • Ricardo Montalban died earlier this week, and while he was a pretty talented guy and will cause pangs of sadness in my heart every time a Fantasy Island rerun comes on, I can’t help but think that this death was orchestrated across generations.  Montalban is perhaps most famous for playing Khan, the evil badass with a fake chest in the Star Trek movies.  Minnesota went through a warm spell this week, largely due to nerds everywhere breathing a sigh of relief as their hero’s original nemesis finally bit the dust.  If we can learn one thing from Ricardo Montalban’s death, it’s the importance of separating fantasy from reality.  You win again, nerds. See you in five years when Magneto kicks it.

Heath Ledger

  • Death is really frustrating to me; not in that bullshit, “Hey, I lost someone I love” sort of cliché but more in a “Aww, I’m suddenly sad that this person has died, although I never gave a shit about their life while they were living.”  The epitome of this kind of vomit-galvanizing death is the passing of Heath Ledger, who died of an accidental overdose or taking the wrong combination of medications or blah blah blah.  Listen to me now: is anyone negatively affected by a celebrity overdose?  Is anyone even surprised anymore?  You can’t swing a dead cat in Hollywood without hitting some tween slut who is so jacked on coke that she’ll sleep with her own pseudo-celebrity father just to get a fix.  You can’t, Miley.  You just can’t.  But the whole point is that Heath Ledger did a bunch of movies that are largely forgettable-Casanova, A Knight’s Tale, 10 Things I Hate About You-and we forgive him for this, because he couldn’t read the label on his “legally obtained” painkillers.


  • For a guy who lived a life chock-full of vice (and not some lame “still watches Heroes” vice, we’re talking about a hookers-booze-drugs-hate-crimes-and-similar-vices vice), George Carlin kind out went out like a bitch.  Heart failure?  Really?  This guy wrote that his preferred way to die was “bursting into flames on the cross town bus.”  Heart.  Fucking.  Failure.  Actually, you know what?  This is all just a right-wing conspiracy to posthumously make this guy seem mild and tame.  You know how I bet he really died? Tyrannosaurus-Rex.


  • But I think the most recent death that was both legitimately tragic and shameful was the death of young, retarded Jett Travolta.  I know, I know: being autistic doesn’t exactly equal intellectual infirmity, but there’s got to be some sort of genetic link between his disease and his parent’s stupid fucking decision to not use antiepileptic medications.  Argue with me all you want Tom Cruise, but those things work, and I personally know at least 150 people who take them daily.  Xenu or whatever the fuck Star Wars bullshit you believe in is not going to make chronic diseases go away.  It’s like holding your breath while waiting for something or, you know, praying-you can do it, but why waste your time?  Do something productive like take a medication or make a milkshake or something.  I don’t know; I’m not a fucking doctor.

I hope I’ve enlightened all your minds (even you, ghostly, feeble-minded Jett) when it comes to celebrity deaths and why I think they are stupid.  If I haven’t, go fuck yourselves.  Hey, I think that will be my new catchphrase!  Go fuck yourself, America!  I feel kind of cutting edge.