Good afternoon and welcome to Friday Frolykz – our end of the working week – beginning of the weekend thread.
Well the big news of the week, of course, is that Farrah Fawcett has snuffed it. Coincidentally at about the same time as that lesser known celebrity Michael Jackson. Which once again, and quite rightly, raises the question “Is this a government cover up?”
Frankly, I think not, but there are remarkable similarities which could indicate otherwise. For one thing they both looked old and scraggy and enjoyed quaffing back ketamine with Michael’s favourite party tipple “Jesus Juice.”
Therefore, it would be quite logical and perfectly reasonable to reach the conclusion that Michael Jackson and Farah Fawcett were indeed one and the same person. For one thing, they were never seen on stage together and they both had interchangeable wigs.
But of course this is a preposterous idea, as we all know that Michael Jackson was also in fact Elizabeth Taylor and Bette Davis at the same time. Which is quite an accomplishment in itself when you think about the logistics involved.
A number of bloggers have remarked that Michael’s departure was rather pedestrian and not really suitably sensational enough for an international pop star.
For sure, who wouldn’t want to die in a plane crash, or perish in a burst of flames as your red mustang fails to negotiate a winding road and careers over a hundred foot cliff at two hundred miles an hour.
But sadly, some people are born to simply, collapse dead on the couch, with the remote control casually slipping from their grasp, as they murmur something about “ffuurth fuckkerth” with saliva drooling down their shirt, all the while slowly disintegrating to the closing credits of Home and Away.
And then there’s drowning in a pool of your own vomit. A style of demise that happened to a friend of mine after skulling a bottle Captain Morgan rum. What a gracious way to go, I thought. At least he had the foresight to put himself in the “recovery position” before slipping into unconsciousness, however unfortunately, this wasn’t sufficient to save him. So much for that first aid course they taught us at school, which by the way, I managed to fail.
Another favourite is to die while “on the job” which isn’t, as the name may suggest, dying at your place of employment, but rather dying with your face slumped somewhere on the keyboard between “F” and “C” . Personally I don’t favour this approach, and rather like the idea of being the admiral on a sinking ship shouting to the passengers and crew “Don’t worry about me! Save yourselves! Save yourselves!”
Of course this is a highly unlikely scenario, given that I’m not an admiral, and I don’t own a ship.
So it’s more likely that I’ll simply step of the curb in front of bus while trying to cross the road at half four in the morning, pissed, while looking for a kebab.
Anyway, on that note happy weekend…
UPDATE: Thanks to James of North Melbourne for sending in this pic of him in the bathtub (but it wasn’t really necessary)…