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.               

This Would Be Funny If It Weren’t So . . . Hell, It IS Funny: Click Track – Courtney Love leads Hole through disastrous 9:30 club concert.               

*Sources close to this vapid skank estimate that $8 Million worth of OxyContin would keep Ms. Love high for the better part of two weeks.

Smaktakula