Look, I'll apologize right up front. I won't apologize "if I offend anyone." I know I'll offend some, and so I offer a straight out apology to start.
But here's the deal: I finally lost it last night watching Lawrence O'Donnell. Watching a bunch of rich, famous fucks bemoaning the stress and hardship that comes with being rich and famous made me want to puke.
I didn't know Whitney Houston, so her death hardly affects me. I'm sure she was the caring, religious, musical genius, generous angel that everyone makes her out to be. I do not mean to disrespect her, nor do I have any reason to have anything but respect for her or her life. As I said, I didn't know her.
Is there really a parallel with Michael Jackson? How should I know? I never met him, either. Frankly, I never would have wanted to meet him.
But let's get serious. You want to talk about stress that can push someone over the edge? Then let's not start with talking about how tough it is to be rich and famous. Let's start with the stress of having no money, no job, mouths to feed, illness, being homeless. You know, like millions of Americans who do what they can. Most of whom don't turn to drugs. (Hell, they couldn't afford them if they wanted to take that path.)
I'll end the way I started, with an apology. I'm sorry, but I can't drudge up any sympathy for the stresses of being rich and famous, and I might puke if I hear much more about it.