I used to want to shout and die, to stamp on sharpened pencils out of shame for the human race whenever I saw Justin Bieber throw his way-cool V sign:
*SHUDDER*
But then I realised, the only reason he was V-ing the world the whole time was because his fingers were all crampled up from playing with his Sooty puppet. Poor little lad.
Or I could think about Allen Kruse, charter boat captain being ‘trained’ by BP to skim for oil.
His business had come to a screeching halt after the April 20 oil spill.
About 7 a.m., after a BP training meeting, he climbed into the wheelhouse of his 46-foot charter boat and ended his worry, his frustration and his anger with a single bullet to the head.
“Nothing was easy working with BP. Everything was hard, and it consumed him. He wasn’t crazy,” said his wife, Tracy, 41, sitting outside the couple’s home in Foley on Thursday.
“You know, I don’t think he was even thinking about his family,” Tracy said. “I think he wanted out of the chaos and what he called ‘madness’ of the whole thing.”
The only person on Earth with a bigger head than Sebastian Horsley has died…
Image manipulation: author’s own.
Tonight, if the sky is clear, look up into the orange, and there amongst the stars you’ll see it sparkle, placed there anew by the trembling hand of Lucifer, bright as a hooker’s eye, more beautiful than all the other stars in heaven (it thinks), shimmering like a hooker’s shoestrap, a silver drop of infected semen to shine down upon us forever, for alas – the thinkable has happened – Ô blasphème de l’art! ô surprise fatale! – Sebastian Horsley is dead.
L’éclat de ce soleil d’un crêpe se voila! as Baudelaire put it, thinking, no doubt, of Horsley as he wrote.
So that’s it. Game over. Horsley, the fool, has gone to shoot up with Jesus in the big whorehouse in the sky. And the world just got a little more boring. Although, on the plus side, there’s one fewer enormous arse living in it.
Damn, I’m actually sad. I can’t believe I’m sad.
I can’t quite figure out why. But perhaps it has to do with Horsley only just now turning his life around. Laying aside the crackpipe, putting down the hookers, and earning an honest living. The ink upon his contract with ExxonMobil barely dry. And only one tie-in product out on the garage shelves: a litre bottle of Horsley Ultra -
I will buy it tomorrow in his honour.
And drink it.