Michael Jackson. Ed McMahon. Billy Mays. Farrah Fawcett. David Carradine. Steve McNair. Arturo Gatti. Oscar Mayer. A lot of celebrities have passed away recently, some under bizarre circumstances. We didn’t know what to make of all this, so we asked our weekly in-season analyst, God, to come in and help explain why so many stars are dying.
UNTO Almighty Me, we commend the soul of our brother, or sister, or single guy from Kung Fu who liked some freaky ass shit, departed, and we commit his body (or, in Michael Jackson’s case, his body and other assorted synthetic parts) to the ground; earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust, Hart to Hart; in sure and certain hope of the Resurrection unto eternal life, through our Lord Jesus Christ…
Wait, wait. I dunno why the kid always gets credit here.
…in sure and certain hope of the Resurrection unto eternal life, through our Lord, Me, THE FUCKING LORD HIMSELF, BIG POPPA, at whose coming in glorious majesty to judge the world and any number of Hawaiian Tropic swimsuit competitions.
You know, then number one question I get at any funeral is, “Why, God, why?” This question annoys Me. First of all, it’s not very specific. I mean really, do you want me to explain why I set up biological processes as they currently are and how such processes came to a stop in your daddy? I don’t think you do. I think most people are looking to me for answers.
People who do this are fucking retarded. No less than three thousand people at the Jackson funeral looked up at Me and said, “Why?” Why? Really? You need Me to help you deduce why Michael Jackson died, people? The answer is laying right in front of you, morons. Maybe if Cobra Commander there didn’t pump himself with enough drugs to kill a longhorn steer on a daily basis, he might still be around. That’s why he died, shitheads. You really think I somehow claimed him at some unfortunate moment? Christ, you’re lucky he lived that long.
And I saw everyone at the funeral was all like, “Maybe everyone will leave you alone now, Michael.” Pfft. That’s not happening. I know what that freakshow did. I’m not leaving him alone. I’m re-blacking him and I’m gonna cordon him off from the kiddie cloud. Not so heavenly NOW, is it?
Same with everyone else. Wanna know why Billy Mays died? It’s not because I thought it was time. It’s because that guy should have laid of the Orange Juliuses. Then he’d still be around to sell the OrangeGlo. Then there are all these conspiracy theorists who are like, “Oooh, these things always come in threes.” No, they don’t. Trust Me. I have a Star Death chart. They’re much more evenly spaced out than you realize.
Now, I will admit to giving Farrah Fawcett ass cancer. I have my reasons. Let’s just say she was far stingier with Me than she was with Ryan O’Neal. Well, the tables have turned, O’Neal! Oh, Me! Oh, man! Oh, Me! Oh, man!
Suck on THAT.
As for McNair and Gatti, again, the answers are right in front you. Don’t blame all My mysterious ways for the reasons they died. Blame the women! Those bitches are crazy! Just like Farrah! It’s true!
The truth is, I don’t control any of this shit. I just set up the game simulator and watch how it plays out. Far more enjoyable that way. If you’re looking to Me for some sort of divine explanation, you are wrong. In fact, next person to do it gets ass cancer. Believe it.
Oh, and if I were Supreme Court Justice John Paul Stevens, I might be in the market for a sturdy casket right now.
I want more like this!
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