A) Oops… Hey, Last.fm… Seen the news lately?
B) I wonder what Michael Jackson’s play count looked like before he bought the farm (but not the ranch)? I’d be willing to bet it was nowhere near 29 million.
C) Does Last.fm knows something we don’t? Is the King of Pop planning something along the lines of his former Father-in-Law, The King?
To make a very long story short, I know a guy who has recently become homeless. He has a group of friends who have been doing all they can to help him, but because of many personal issues, it is now on his shoulders to pull himself up, and he has entered a program to facilitate this.
That being said, we exchange text messages from time to time which can range from hilarious to downright scary. Here are a few choice examples, presented without explanation as I have received them. Make of them what you will. References to his program and location have been changed to protect his identity.
I am now being inducted into *** on Drs orders
Good squalor Fartjeans
Apd crack killah wassup
I stank erected
I got a rash & u dont want any
Celeb lookalikes @ *** : tom hanks. Stalin. Avery Schreiber. Chas Bronson. Wm Finley. Sam Jackson. Steven Speilberg. J Leguizamo
Bruce willis. The meatball from aqua teen hunger kids with a body. Andre the giant. Aiden brophy. De niro as scarface. Vannessa williams?
Tom baker. Johnny legend. David carradine.
John turturro. Paul mooney. Jimmy dean. Lou gosset jr. Al sharpton. Art carney. Bobby orlando.
Gary sinese. Herbert lom. Jay from Clerks.
Conan obrien. Levar burton.
G-zuz!
Best ho-made tshirt of the morning: ‘i dont bite just!!! hungry’.
*** is wireless. If-when i get an indoor locker i need my laptop here.
Yeah there’s a bro here who blames me 4 ALL his problems. More on that later.
EMS is here - the guy 2 bunks down is dying. Full blown HIV
Good news- the guy that appeared to have died last night made it to the hospital on time & is doing better
I’m at the clinic - constant interruptions but @ least i’m being seen. Hour behind as usual. Man the shit i have seen lately…
I have been shuffled around so much i’m not certain which msgs made it 2 u
Saw a guy shit on ***** street in the bright sunny traffic. A big dark fat turd in 2 chunks.
I have made a couple friends- there really are some decent struggling ppl there.
I have met some incredibly cool black folks & some real definitive moronic shit-ass niggers. Being homeless illuminates pain like LSD
I’m in the *** prog & that is going 2 save my ass provided i work hard @ it, like 2day.
4.75 hours wait for 6 minutes of doctor. These poor bastids are clearly not in it for the money
Crazy, truely scary shit.
Aside from the requisite 24-7 hustle there are a few noteworthy to be avoided @ all costs. I shall elaborate in person.
Bingo. The money some of these fools waste on crack, weed & cigs could house & feed them independently
Possibly more later…
I received a text from my wife yesterday that signaled the passing of a great man.
“Have you read the news that Dolemite died?”
I hadn’t. Jumping over to Dolemite.com, I read the mounting news reports of his death and remembered the couple of times I met him. Onstage, he was Dolemite, Shine, Petey Wheatstraw the Devil’s Son-in-Law and more, all rolled up in one big nasty package, but offstage, he was kind, thoughful, even going-out-of-his-way courteous to a crowd of people he didn’t know as they lined up for autographs and souvenir photos.
The first time I saw him perform in 1993 at the See You Later Lounge over on Montopolis Drive, he seemed to just be starting his “revival” after languishing in obscurity during most of the previous decade. A small crowd of Emo’s regulars (all white, of course) had come to the show, and RRM took enormous pleasure including a bit of friendly harrassment in his act that night, at one point asking if anyone would “eat a chitlin cleaned by this white bitch over here” (my future sister-in-law, Mary Ann) and even getting me up before the crowd to exclaim, “This big motherfucker look just like Pee Wee Herman, just fatter.You jack off alot don’t you, man?” And what could I say but, “Yes, Mr. Dolemite, yes I do!” For my good sportsmanship, I was rewarded with a copy of a porn movie entitled “Willy Jackoff’s Chocolate and Cream Factory: Black Thunder.” The crowd loved it. As I left the stage with my prize, he sent me off with “Here, take this… It’s horrible.”
In order to pay his way back to LA, he was selling posters and other Dolemite merch, plus some dubious non-RRM junk such as framed prints of huge stacks of cash and cheap VHS porn tapes and other junk, most of which he had nothing to do with. Upon asking him to sign the movie I had proudly won, he replied, “Man, I ain’t in that movie, I can’t sign my name to it.” He did, however, finally signing the box, “To John, You Pee Wee Herman Motherfucker.”
The second time I saw him was in 1997 at Catfish Station on Sixth Street. By then he was enjoying a rebounding career that brought high praise from the movers and shakers of the comedy and hip hop worlds. His act, as well as his gracious personality, was basically the same though, but this time I noticed his advanced age was surely catching up with him. I picked up a “Dolemite for President” t-shirt and some other memorabilia, and as he was signing the merch and chatting with me, he seemed to be looking right through me—he was probably already suffering vision problems from the diabetes that had plagued him for so long. He remembered the Pee Wee Herman comparison from years earlier, and thanked me “for being such a good sport up there.”
The lasting impression left on me by RRM, besides the fact that he was a funny motherfucker, was that he was the antithesis of the “take the money and run” stereotype of his contemporaries. If anyone deserved attention and respect for all that he pioneered in the entertainment world, it was him.
I learned recently that Bert Brooks, the son of my cousin, Ozella (making him my second cousin, I suppose), died on 7 September in a BASE jumping accident at Lauterbrunnen, Bern, Switzerland. I can’t say I knew him—I only remember meeting him a few times when I was very young. As can be assumed about most of those involved in the BASE jumping scene, I guess he must have been an intense guy and presumably died doing what he loved. Any one of us can only hope to go out like that…
Condolences go out to his fiancee who was on the scene and had apparently made the jump just before him.
UPDATE: More information was posted recently to the BASE Fatality List:
“Bert was with his girlfriend Michelle on a BASE vacation in Lauterbrunnen, Switzerland. Conditions were good, and this particular jump occurred a bit after 2pm local time. Michelle jumped first, landed, and turned to watch Bert’s jump. He was using a 34″ pilot chute expecting to get full terminal airspeed but had to pitch between 5 and 7 seconds. It is unclear why, but he was too close to the wall to continue freefall. Bert pitched and opened with a 180 facing the wall. Bert struck the wall multiple times and was reported to be unresponsive after the first strike. Bert made it a point to never wear a helmet. Had he chose otherwise it could have given him a chance to fight and turn after that first strike. We will never know but hopefully will think twice ourselves about protective gear.”
