Seriously, what did you think she was famous for? Listen to these fans scream: they would cheer on a trainwreck if it wore a really trashy dress. As Nietzsche says, when we cease to worship the old gods they die, and whatever we do worship becomes the new god.
Is this enlightenment?
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Actually she is a train wreck.
Hey, she was the best golddigger of our time.
The best golddigger, but like all train wrecks, she didn’t have much time to enjoy the gold. I don’t know what’s sadder, that the fantasy machine that is the NA media (& public) made this vapid whore into a star, or that no one seems to be actually grieving.
I’ll stick with my life of no fame, no adulation, but true accomplishments in career and love.
To grieve you have to lose someone you loved, and the only people who loved her were her own kids, one of whom she killed with her own drugs, the other she left addicted and probably impaired for life.
Perhaps I’ve been readng too much John Donne, who puts these things so well – I am sorry that this rather pathetic, sad Lady is (as Botswanans would put it) now late
Every man’s (& woman’s) death diminishes me
but I would accept your Bargain with Life
How different her Life might have been if she had been loved (& loved) the right man
Yr obedt servt etc
Would it have been different? I don’t know about that. She was a hedonist, unapologetically, and the live fast, die young and leave a pretty corpse thing has its appeal. While I’m sure she didn’t want to die particularly, she made it clear from the time she was small that she didn’t want to live without drugs, cigarettes, alcohol, and lots and lots of money. She got everything she wanted out of life. Everything.
We live for just these twenty years till we have to die for the fifty more…well, if you’ve got a good surgeon like hers, you can live for 39 years.
Thanks for reminding me why I hardly ever watch network television
No need: all the best bits show up on YouTube eventually.
All the best bits will still be around in another century or so anyway.
@Mme Metro: Does my longing for a vapid, orgiastic life of shallow, dangerous amusement and a nasty, public series of affairs shortly before my death, and the litany of law-and-paternity suits sure to result mean that we have to argue for custody of the housemaid?
If these are the new gods–Cthulhu eat me!
You don’t know as much as you should about the new gods if you think asking Cthulhu to go down on you would make him nicer to you. At least buy him a drink first, ya white trash!
Oh–Raincoaster. Didn’t see you there.
Though by the smell you’re still rubbing crab into private crevices in the hope of attracting probing tentacles. You should really give over that, eh?
Why? It works so well for you from what it says on the wall of the tilapia tank at T&T.
Yes, but in your case it’s best to remember that there are some things tentacles just won’t probe, and that many of them are on you.
Don’t be ridiculous. I had myself de-loused last Fall.
Ah, in order that the tentacles would probe you, no doubt?
Ah Metro, I could answer that but why would I feed your need to live vicariously through me. Just go down to the lake and wait for Ogopogo yourself.
Ogopogo is singularly untentacular.
You’ve never seen him from the right angle.