Happy Easter, everybody! Bummer about Jesus dying. But it’s totally awesome that I outlived him. In fact, as of today—the glorious anniversary of my birth—I’ve officially outlived him by five years. But that’s old news; more exciting is that I’ve now outlived a whole other crop of complete losers.
Like Bobby Darin. Splish, splash, you’re dead! Or Michael Hutchence, a real choke artist when it comes to living a long life. Or Samuel Coleridge-Taylor, the confusingly named composer who wasn’t the poet Samuel Taylor Coleridge; it used to be easy to distinguish you as “the alive one”, but not anymore.
You know who’s also confusing? Harriet Quimby. Are you a pioneering female aviator (like Christa McAuliffe—also dead), or are you the star of a series of children’s novels? It doesn’t matter! And Parmigianino. Are you a Renaissance painter or a cheese? You’re neither—you’re dead.
Okay, Raphael, I know you were a Renaissance painter. Too bad you weren’t a ninja turtle; Michael Bay would be breathing new life into you right now (even as he murdered the childhoods of appalled Gen-Xers). On the other hand, it’s pretty awesome that you died from excessive sex. Better than shooting yourself in a wheat field—right, Vincent Van Gogh?
Lou Gehrig, today, you are the deadest man on the face of the Earth! Actually, you are exactly as dead as Marie Antoinette, who also lived to be 13,863 days old. Isn’t that interesting? Isn’t it even more interesting that I far outlived you both?
And you, Sal Mineo; isn’t it interesting that an actor nicknamed the “Switchblade Kid” should get stabbed to death? I bet you regret not getting people to call you the “Having-Sex-to-Death Kid”, don’t you? You could have learned a thing or two from Raphael.
Medgar Evers! Moving on!
Now, Qusay Hussein … that’s more like it. One good thing about you is that you kept a lower profile than your flamboyant, erratic brother Uday. One even better thing? Your profile is even lower now. Like the six feet under kind of low. You asshole.
Hey George Mallory, why did you die climbing Mount Everest? Because it’s there! Hey Jam Master Jay, did you know Adidas stands for “All Day I Die After Shootings”? It might as well! Hey Mitch Hedberg, why did you overdose on cocaine and heroin? Some absurd answer!
All of you fancy-talking boys—Robert Burns, Arthur Rimbaud, Thomas Wolfe—so good with words. Well, here’s something none of you ever got to say: Happy thirty-eighth birthday to me! Oh yeah!
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