Sunday, June 28, 2009
The World Apparantly Enjoys Making Me Suffer...
It's been a long time since I've last posted. I'm not going to look back to see exactly how long, because who cares? Look it up yourself, pedants! Anyway, Billy Mays died today. Since the last KT post, Farrah Fawcett, Michael Jackson, and Billy have all left us. I've never really cared much about Farrah, as she was before my time. I'm sure if I grew up during the height of her fame, I would've had a poster of her. She was the best at what she did; namely, having feathered hair.
Michael Jackson hurt a bit more. Dude was a bit messed up, no doubt about that, but he was a legend for a reason. He made some great music, including the best selling album EVER. And you know what? It deserved to be that. It's a fucking great album. Thriller is un-fucking-believable. I'm pretty sure I orgasm every time I hear Eddie Van Halen's solo on "Beat It." His accomplishments were somewhat marred by personal problems, but I honestly don't think he was a pederast. He was basically rendered asexual by age 12 because of his father, and he overcompensated for his lost childhood. Did he have some psychological issues? Most definitely. Was he a child molester? I'm not convinced. Anyway, he was the best at what he did, too. His talents were a bit more meaningful (i.e. incredible dancing skills, awesome voice, ability to sell shit loads of records even after his sex appeal evaporated in about a 3 year period, etc.) than Farrah's, and he absolutely deserved to be called the "King of Pop." I'm probably the only one that remembers this, but there was an episode of The Colbert Report where Damien Kulash (of OK Go, a band that I used to care a lot about) stated that he wanted to become pop's new king, and Colbert stated that MJ "[had] not died, nor has he been usurped." Great joke at the time, but it's a little macabre in retrospect. Guess the position's open for someone to take, unless it's retired.
Finally, we have the most iconic and talented of the three: Billy Mays. Mays was truly a god among men, an American hero who could make a can of shit and barbed wire look delicious and sell cleaning products like nobody's business. You shut your whore mouth when Billy Mays was talking. It was that simple. He pitched it, you bought it, and the cycle repeated itself. His patented "scream you into submission" technique took no prisoners. Mays spawned many pretenders. Sully, of the "Magic Bullet" infomercials, as well as Billy's costar on "Pitchman" was the closest thing he had to a peer, and was often referred to (by me) as "the poor man's Billy Mays." Vince Offer was the worst of these immitators, and is generally vilified (by everyone, not just me) as "the homeless man's Billy Mays." Dude beat up a prostitute. Billy Mays would NEVER raise his hand to a prostitute, let alone a woman, or require the services they provide. He was the definition of class, grace, perfection, and was always the loudest guy in the room. May he shout forever in the heavens above us. Good night, sweet prince. The world is truly a sadder, quiter place without you.