Tupac is alive and well and I know this because he came to live with me a few weeks after he faked his own death. In fact I can see him now. He's in the kitchen playing with a gu…BANG!
Alive and kicking
OH FUCK! OH FUCK! OH FUCK! OH FUCK!
Tupac, buddy, hang on in there! The ambulance will be here soon, budd-BANG!
Shit.
I’m only kidding. He didn’t really accidentally blow his own fucking head off. In fact he’s sat opposite me now, munching a bowl of Frosted Flakes and wearing nothing but a skimpy white towel and a lovely just-fucked smile. Hubba hubba!
Just my conversation with the Toopster has me thinking - hey, who's your fave-rave allegedly dead rock star? Obliviously, Bowie was a start but it's just not enough. Mine's that junkie fuckwit wannabe/guitar virtuoso Tommy Bolin . Jesus fuck me, this guy took so many drinks and drugs and shoe polish that he withered up like an autumn leaf on a oak tree and ended up with some unspeakable disease and died not before uttering the immortal words. "Look at meeeeeeeeee everybody, I’m Keith Richards, right? You mean, I’m not? Uuuuuuurk-gah!"
"'Da fuck you mean I'm dead?
There was once a time when barely a week went by without some rock hack star buying a farm or two by flying into mountains, choking on vomit (theirs or someone else’s), electrocuted in the bath – it was great, wasn’t it? Wham bam, instant legend status and massive, and all of those endless ‘best of’ albums to follow…oh hang on, there’s someone at the door. Toopy, love, can you get that? If its Biggie on the scrounge for sugar again, tell the F A T fuck pile of shit to fuck off, OK? And for fuck’s sake put some clothes on. Yes, yes, love you too, baby! Mwa!
Those were the days
Now, where were I? Yes. The good old days, huge surgically-enhanced titted Hollywood bombshell fucks off top Satanist and -SKREEEEE KER-ASH! - next minute she’s slumped in the seat of her Mercedes roadster with all like blood pumping out of her ragged neck and her head in the gutter. Film actress wheeling in the dessert trolley – DING DONG! It’s Chuck E Manson and his sidekick, Squeaky. Hey, is that sherry in the trifle or has some mad mall rat goth dolly with a latex fetish bitch just traumatically amputated your fucking liver with an axe? Great times, great times. But now, thanks to airbags, seatbelts and a more sensible attitude to drink, drugs and homicidal trainspotters, these over-paid and incredibly boring “entertainers” just don’t die anymore. They creak on and on stinking of piss and banging out ever-shitter albums (yes, Tom Petty, and Paul Westerberg, I’m talking about YOU!).
Plus, thanks to the glut of ‘reality TV shows”, we’ve got more and more “celebrities” coming along every year. It’s like an invasion. Anyone remember when Tommy Lee goes from heroin and wife abuse to college? Fuck me. I mean if this were a scientific experiment involving rats in a maze then some fucker in a white coat would be scrabbling to press the “abort” button. OK, so you get people like Pete Doherty playing Russian roulette with substance abuse and the pox. Or does he? I’ve got my suspicions. Here’s a question for you to ponder: How many of YOUR bloated “rock stars” who claim they “dabble” with the “creative influence” have died so far? NONE! Total number of fatal casualties? FUCK ALL!
That’s why I say that our rock stars should be drug tested – to make sure they’re taking the real, proper, life-threatening stuff and not some pussy placebo supplied by government “dealers”.
And since I have no “real friends” to pump up my drama and pseudo-vanity on Twitter. I feel the need to write in praise of drink, drugs, shitty aircraft engines, bribable bodyguards and blank-eyed, severely depressed lonely people clutching well-thumbed copies of Catcher In The Rye. Every time a Joe Strummer dies, the karmic balance demands that a thousand David Lee Roths die at his side. Think about it – a million years from now alien archaeologists dig up the tomb of a roadie for Marc Bolan of T-Rex and discover to their horror that Fred Durst, the fuck-awful Coldplay, and that Chichewa-faced bland fuck from Bright Eyes and the entire cast of We Will Rock You have been mass-strangled and buried alongside him. Cool or what?
Fucking pussy lightweight and poser
People are always moaning at me for my obsession of Jack White. And they’re right. Fuck – it even bores me! But don’t you see? The fucker is still alive! Ditto to Bono, Sting, and Mark Knopfler. Why? What’s the point? Now I’m not advocating a cull. I’m not saying that we give Mark Chapman an early release, immunity from prosecution and an Abrahams A-1 tank fully loaded. Well actually I am. In fact the only area of showbiz which isn’t letting the side down is rap. And, as I’ve told you and how much I despise rap and the entire hip-hop culture, they’re only pretending to cap each other’s asses to boost record sales. Smart business men or what? Rock music – it’s pathetic! OK, Kurt Kerblam, that was a bit extreme -- I’ll give you him -- apart from that – what a bunch of boring, boring, long-lived dead-weights!
Obviously read 'The Art of The Deal'
But the big question is why? Why are they surviving? Better health care? Shitter drugs? Tighter security? Better quality control in the airplane factories? It’s a conspiracy. We all know that it was the CIA that killed John Lennon along with Hendrix and Joplin and now Bowie, oh, and not forgetting Jim Morrison (especially him). So who’s to say that it’s not the same bunch of evil fascist scum who are keeping the current crop alive? Artificially?
Too tough to die...not!
Here’s some history for you:
Back during the Cold War the powers that be got in an awful shit-fit about rock ‘n’ roll music. They genuinely believed that it was a Kremlin controlled conspiracy aimed at turning the children of the west into negro-fucking satanic drug fiends. Which is why they went to such great length to off them one by one. With extreme predge. Now they’ve wised up. They’ve realized that the “fan” is a supine, spineless, groveling, sub-human maggot mall rat. Better than that: they are super-consumers with a credit card. In short – the perfect model citizen for the New World Order. Oh, and THAT”s coming around the bin any day now.
Look, what I’m saying is that fans need idols. Which is why they’re a protected species. But it’s even worse than that. Much worse.
Remember that song – “Fame, I’m going to live forever!”? People, we are the last generation for which death will be great leveler. Nanobots, rejuvenation, cryogenics, cloning – you name it, soon the rich will be using it to live forever. You think things are bad with how you bitch about the price of gas for your SUV your parents bought for you now? Just wait 100, 50, 20 years. Man will soon achieve his greatest dream – immortality. It’s practically inevitable. And after that will come the conquest of the stars. I want you to imagine it – an entire galaxy populated by billions of rat-bearded Starbucks-sipping folk singers, burnt out billionaire rock stars and countless ex-Big Brother contestants with nothing to read but encyclopedia-sized editions of Rolling Stone, and Tiger Beat magazine.
The future of rock 'n' roll
I’m only glad that I won’t be alive much longer to see it. Unless, of course, I can get famous in the meantime. Hey, now there’s a thought. Have you ever seen me tap dance?
PS: Tupac sends hugs!
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Originally Posted by Kristy
