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.
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
I mean, really. I just don’t get it.
A certain mysterious someone at Lamecamp Vancouver last week at the Cambie Pub. Who could it be? Whoever it is, they’ve got fabulous taste in Twitter reading material!
Lamely shot on medium format, scanned at ridicioulsy low resolution after pushing the film by a stop because I lamely forgot my faster speed film.
Star Trek is, as it always has been, one series and one series only: the one called Star Trek. The Alpha series.
It doesn’t need any dangling modifiers; doesn’t need any TLA’s. It’s Star Trek, bitches, the one and only.
And this is the video that proves it:
I pity the fool that talks illogical!
raincoaster 