Beating the Media’s Dead Horse
I’m not sure what the average number is, but people die every day. Okay, let me take that back. I just looked on ASK.com and an average of 146, 000 people on the planet kick the proverbial bucket every 24 hours – an average of 6,083 per hour. That’s an interesting fact and one that you don’t think about every day. People continue pass from our earthly plain , and unless it’s a friend, acquaintance, or relative, we don’t give it any thought – life just goes on as usual. But when celebrities die, our tv’s, newspapers, and computer screens are filled with enough sensationalism to last another lifetime.
It does rather seem that famous folk are dropping at an alarming clip as of late. The latest is NFL quarterback, Steve McNair, a victim of homicide over the last couple of days. It’s always shocking to hear when it’s a person who is noteworthy, especially when they’re not old – in this case, McNair, who was only 36. We are captivated when these people go, and the media certainly doesn’t let you forget – in many instances, to the point of brutal nauseum. Case in point, then death of Princess Diana in 1997. Sad, yes… but to dominate our every waking moment for weeks on end was a media ghoul’s dream and our worst nightmare. Lady Di, 24/7, drove us all to the brink of insanity – all except for the Enquirer crowd who generally hang on every ounce of pablum vomit the media can possibly dish up. “Get yer Pricess Di collector’s plates here…get ‘em while she’s cold!”
I took a peak at an aol.com story today, which is a re-cap of the famously deceased in 2009… Maria de Jesus, the oldest living person passed on January 2, 2009 at 116 years old, John Travolta’s son, Jett, Ricardo Montalban, Pulitzer Prize-winning author, John Updike, actor James Whitmore, Broadcasting pioneer, Paul Harvey, Alan Livingston, who was the creator of Bozo the Clown and former president of Capitol Records who signed the Beatles and Frank Sinatra, actor and political activist Ron Silver, Stage and screen actress, Natasha Richardson, Porn Queen, Marilyn Chambers, Philadelphia Phillies announcer Harry Kalas, actress Bea Arthur, Congressman and NFL quarterback, Jack Kemp, Comedic actor, Dom DeLuise, actor David Carradine, Longtime ‘Tonight Show’ sidekick, Ed McMahon, Farrah Fawcett, Comedian, impersonator, Fred Travalena, and renowned tv pitchman, Billy Mays, just to name a few.
What?… Did I forget somebody? My “Bad.”
Last week while in Washinton DC, I walked outside of the Museum of American History, and my daughter gets a text from a friend that Michael Jackson is dead. Suddenly there’s a buzz on the street that the so-called King of Pop has done his final moonwalk. Now, Farrah Fawcett has died earlier in the day, but no one really pays notice because the bleach skinned, sequin gloved owner of the Elephant Man has left the friggin building. That night in the hotel room, every channel on television is consumed with the mysterious death of magic Michael. I can’t even get the baseball scores or the weather report because the frightening looking dude with the chiseled nose can no longer grab his crotch on stage. I’m now subjected to hours of Geraldo, Al Sharpton, and other talentless slugs, as my wife just can’t get enough.
I am not and have NEVER been a fan of the youngest Jackson. I loathed his music and despised his media controlling antics. It has been said that half the bizzaro things reported about him were indeed actually released by Jackson, himself. Every interview I watched was with people who loved, worshiped, praised and adored him and his music. I never saw a single interview with people like myself, who though he was a walking freak show of the highest order. Remember when his nose fell off in court…when he dangled his hooded baby over that balcony…when he admitted that young boys would sleep in his bed? And now for days on end I hear his dreaded tunes and see his freakish bodily gyrations on the flat screen, all the livelong day. I’d much rather watch a Charlie’s Angel’s marathon on Nickelodeon, or dare I say, Oxy Clean commercials for hours on end – But WAIT…there’s MORE!
Wow, the media loves this shit, I mean they just love it. When the famous croak, the dollars mount. Death to the King of Pop means ultra high ratings and cha-ching, cha-ching, cha-ching! Watching Greta Van Susteren talk out the side of her face is bad enough, but seeing her whore out with the likes of Larry King is just pure bloody hell to take. The media sucks every last ounce of marrow from the bone and when it’s dried, they move onto the next victim of prey. Oh, hey, sorry…didn’t mean to mention Michael Jackson and bone sucking in the same paragraph. An honest blunder, I assure you.
Well, that’s enough of this morbidity. I’ve beaten this topic to death and it’s time to enjoy life, folks. Show’s over, folks… move along…nothing more to see here.
Have a good one,
Tommy Z.,
JR Cigar Blog With the Zman.
