Once Upon A Time, Psychos Shot Public Figures To Impress Acclaimed Actresses. Today They'll Do It For Kirstie Alley.
The world has changed a great deal since Mark David Chapman was convinced by overrated teen-angst novel The Catcher in the Rye that John Lennon was a “phony” and needed to die. Although Chapman will be forever hated as the man who killed John Lennon but didn’t kill Yoko Ono when he had the chance, it must be granted that in selecting the former Beatle as the target for his psychopathic rage, he was certainly aiming high.
Still Alive. Why, God? Why?
In 2011, fringy weirdos are apparently under no compulsion to set such lofty goals for themselves, as evidenced by disturbing news from Anaheim, California that imbecilic viral sensation Rebecca Black has received two death threats. An unnamed source with the Anaheim PD confirmed the report, saying: “It’s baffling that someone should be upset over this song.” While admitting it was insipid, aural crack, he added, “But Rebecca has an IQ of 73–she literally doesn’t know what she’s singing–or Auto-Tuning, rather.”
The offensive video:
There are those who remain unconcerned about this incident, denying any link to a wider social trend, reasoning that, after all, Friday is a pretty shitty song. But a growing number of cultural watchdogs see this as symptomatic of society’s devolution as a whole. “A few years ago,” says Dr. Emil Haagerdäddi of the Cambridge Institute for Stalker Studies, “This nut would have been gunning for Bono or Kurt Cobain. But those pukes in Good Charlotte are too highbrow for today’s headcase. It’s sad, really.”
A Literary Work No Longer Needs To Have Cultural Resonance To Inspire Pathetically Crazed Fans.
It’s too early to tell if the doomsayers are correct in believing that humanity has fallen to such a level that the effect is evidenced even in society’s outliers. True or not, it’s best to err on the side of caution, and provide a little extra protection for such pop music footnotes as Susan Boyle and that pouty little gay kid from American Idol.
William Hung: This Talentless Blob Fears For His Life.
Courtney Love, Generation X’s heroin-slagged answer to Yoko Ono, is an oozing societal sore which refuses doggedly to heal.
The most heinous of her crimes, of course, is being so loathsome that Nirvana’s Kurt Cobain found the taste of a shotgun preferable to the thought of spending even one more second listening to Love’s screeching voice.
Included among the vast legion of people who consider Love an epic cooze is the talentless harpy’s own daughter, Frances Bean Cobain. The younger Cobain prevailed upon the court recently to emancipate her from the chemical-crazy she-beast from whose cankerous loins she sprang. The court mercifully agreed.
Unfortunately for young Francis Bean, the trust fund left for her by her father’s estate won’t be as easy to emancipate. Just as Krist Novoselic and Dave Grohl already know, nobody clings with greater tenacity to the fruits of more talented labors than does Courtney Love. Adding insult to injury, the trust fund has grown mysteriously lighter, to the tune of $8 Million.*
Hey Pretty Lady, Was That Your Fine Ass I Saw Down At the SELL-UR-BLOOD The Other Day?
In a final irony, the ravages of an indiscreet lifestyle have transformed Courtney Love from a shapely, Anna Nicole Smith-wannabe into a virtual doppelgänger of Yoko Ono: a yellow, shriveled, screaming mess.