You knew William Shatner was a living god.
Sure you did. You read my last post, didn’t you?
But did you know that William Shatner was a rapaciously raptastic rapscallion who can bring out da funk even in someone as WASPy as Conan O’Brian?
Well, now you do.
Longtime readers of the ol’ raincoaster blog, plus all Canadians ever born or made, have long been familiar with the singularly sexy superstar of supernatural superlativenosity known as The Shat. To all others, we say, worry not, o obliviousnosceni, we feel for you. What do we feel for you?
Pity, that’s what.
Ah pity da man who don’t know William Shatner
The masticator:
Oh, you can HAVE your Paris‘s. You can HAVE your Padma‘s. You can HAVE (for about twenty-five bucks, if I hear rightly) your Audrina’s. But none of them will ever approach the irresistable erotic intensity of this pudding performance of the Shat..
Everyone knows that Winston Churchill was one of the greatest Prime Ministers that Britain ever had. Many people also know he was an alcoholic. Some people know he was a wit. And a few know he was a painter of moderate talents.
But who knew he was a rapper?
Behold the wonder which is DJ Winston, as he and his crew get this dinner party started!
via Neatorama
Michael Jackson, the self-crowned King of Pop, is dead at the age of 50. Born an adorable, talented black boy, he died (apparently of heart failure, insert own bitter joke here) a bizarre creature somewhere between the aliens from Communion and Zombie Janice Dickinson, with a soupcon of pederasty for (as the kids say) flava. Alternately short of Money or Invincible, Black or White, Smooth Criminal or The Man, he remained a protean figure of scandal-scented mystery to his last days.
It’s just Human Nature to pursue a Pretty Young Thing, although his Monkey Business recreational tastes and pursuits brought him to the attention of the law on a regular basis. When finally confronted with the rap, he Beat It, claiming he and the boys were Just Good Friends who would Come Together in friendship. Known over the decades as a libel lawyer’s best patron (What More Can He Give?) when he felt Threatened, the eccentric musician had seemed in recent years to have turned around his notoriously aberrant behavior, although more cynical minds (like mine) figured that instead of pursuing free-range children, he’d just decided to grow his own: Blanket, Prince Michael, and Paris. Ah, the Lost Children.
I hope that, once his no-doubt vainglorious tomb is complete and he installed within it, Banksy can come up with something suitably memorable, although it’s hard to top that portrait. HIStory will judge him. Until that time, we have this, by DryHumourSteve:
His bones will given to the relatives of Joseph Carey Merrick
Sadly, the truth is, none of them look like Johnny Depp; they actually look exactly like that guy that asked you for change the other day.
Oh, and it gets worse:
raincoaster 