R.I.P.

Unless you've been living under a rock, you would have heard the news. The king of pop is dead. But wait...so is Farrah Fawcett...and that Billy Mays, whose voice always seemed to scream from the infomercials. Then there's Ed McMahon, who was almost summoning death at 86. And what about that funny impersonater guy, Fred Travalena? He kicked the can too. It seems to me that these past couple days have been filled with an overwhelming amount of deaths. I can't remember hearing about anything so peculiar - all of these deaths being reported as quickly as dominoes plink onto the dining room table. With the Charlie's Angels being shorted a third, and the king of pop having to cancel his London tour - it's almost too much grief to bear. I mean how will we ever live without the rhinestone glove or Oxi-Clean? Who is going to say "Herrrrrrrrrrrreeeeeeeeeee's Johnny"? And who will we have to give us impossible standards of the 70's blowout? I mean, we might as well just call it a day and stop living right now ;)