Skip to main content

Today, a Hero has Fallen

So I woke up today.

It was a white sky that I opened my heavy eyes to. A white sky and an eerie silence.

I check my phone to look at the time and I see that little yellow and red around my 2-d letter, telling me i have a new text.

I check it. He's dead.

Billy Mays is dead today.

Before I could consummate my love for him. Before I could meet him. The Beard is dead.

Fuck MJ. I don't care. Billy Mays is dead and he's not getting the recognition or parades he deserves because of that goddamn billie jean.

I almost threw up from grief. I did. It's true, I almost kind of a little bit threw up from how upset I am.

Billy Mays was the first. He was the best. He wasn't a pitchman. He was a pitchGOD.

Without Mays, we wouldn't have Vince, we wouldn't have pitchmen. We wouldn't mend things mightily

We wouldn't invoke the power of hercules to hang our freshly laundered sheets... powered by... powered by *sob* oxygen.

We couldn't putty up the cracks. We couldn't do anything but stuff rocks up our noses without him.

And... that beard. That beard was THE beard. it set the standard for beards. I credit that beard for my infatuation with all and any bearded man.

And now he's gone. Taken and ripped away from us.

I'm sorry. I just... I need a little time to myself.

Billy, We're gonna miss you buddy. We love you. I loved you. I was IN love with you.

Comments

  1. Dude! He died after surviving a plane crash! WTF!!!

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

I Can't Hear Your Little Red Rooster

Fright

I call this room Home.

He will not look at me

His eyes flicker with

a speck of violence.



my strained smile,

disgusted by

my pleading eyes.

my veins freeze

icy blood

tearing through coronaries




May Day

'Hope, you don't have to use it on your wedding night.'

She handed the pistol to Hope, right after the vows, right before the reception.

'I'm just kidding, darling. Don't worry. He's a good man. You did well sweetheart. He's a good man. You'll be fine.'

Hope's paper-thin smile tried to grow as she stared at her grandmother's reflection in the mirror. The mother-of-pearl grip sparkled in her grandmother's hand, bathed by the Chapel's cheap buzzing lights.

'There's a bullet for you, just in case.'

Hope had left the gun on the table.

A week earlier, drunk off self-pity, she had taken it out of its case and walked to the kitchen, where she stuck the barrel in her mouth and proceeded to take pictures of herself to send to Ray.

In a rare instance of good fortune, her phone ran out of battery before she could indulge her sense of pithy revenge. She woke up and pried open her tear-salted eyelashes then made sure to delete an…