It was worth a shot, though. Considering how much DNA that the human being formerly known as Prince spread around — prior to finding Jesus — you never know who in the world is or isn’t at least a little sexay motherf*cka.
In fact, the odds are so good of so many relations, that they might have to distribute Prince’s earthly wealth like this through the streets of Minneapolis:
We’ve followed the saga of Knut, the polar bear cub born in captivity in Berlin that Germany — a country prone to unhealthy mass hysteria — fell a little too in love with for years. And now, with his autopsy report, we can officially end this coverage with a final pronouncement. That Knut died the way he lived: by thinking that he was people. Or, at least through a condition that, until now, had only been associated with people.
Knut’s story ends with anti-NMDA receptor encephalitis, which caused his brain to swell, after which he fell into his pool and drowned. Assuming polar bears crap in ice flows, which are mostly water, we can say that he, therefore, died like another 300-pound white superstar on his toilet: Elvis.
Farewell, Knut. In the War on Animals, you were our favorite bear in a cage to rattle.
Feelings are tricky. When first experienced, they overwhelm to the point that you’ll honestly believe that you will never feel differently again, especially when it comes to loss and grieving. And then, poof, one day, you don’t feel as bad. And finally, after enough time, you feel a little silly explaining that memorial tattoo of your first cat to any new employers. It’s enough to make anyone feel a little guilty, like maybe our love wasn’t all strong that strong to begin with.
Well, if you can’t maintain the intensity of raw emotion for your lost loved ones, you can at least re-stimulate it for 3 to 15 minutes at a time, depending on your stamina and time between meetings at work. It’s all thanks to Mark Sturkenboom, who is the only man with the exact right name to create a dildo with people’s cremated ashes inside.
So, your loved ones aren’t really gone, not so long as they’re still inside of you.
Ever wonder why so many banks have “first” or “one” in their names? It’s possibly because they’re creating a race of immortals who move silently down through the centuries, living many secret lives, struggling to reach the time of the Gathering: when the few who remain will battle to the last.
The woman in question is believed to have died sometime in 2008, but because her bank account was well-stocked, her bills, mortgage and landscaping payments continued going out as scheduled until March 2013. It wasn’t until her bank foreclosed her home that anyone found her, mummified in her car in the garage.
Hopefully, she hadn’t planned on taking her money with her.
In another decade, the death of who may be this living generation’s greatest example of humanity might have been regarded as a solemn occasion: a time to reflect on his achievements and appraise our own life’s work in comparison.
Fortunately, Nelson Mandela was South African, so that let Americans off the hook.
Instead, we took it as an opportunity to decide who was and wasn’t grieving appropriately and, more importantly, “How is this Obama’s Teapot Dome?” (Having already used Watergate, Katrina, Iraq, and even “Mission Accomplished Moment” to describe the president’s failures, we’re now re-appropriating scandals from the Harding administration.) Oh, and to determine whether the recently ex-living embodiment of dismantling systemic racism was “just another socialist like Stalin, Hitler, and FDR.”
So, on behalf of all my fellow assho Americans, I’d like to thank Mr. Mandela for politely letting us carry on like a pack of baboons for the past several days. A lesser corpse would have rolled through to China by this afternoon after enduring these “stories,” proving just how swell of a guy Madiba was …
While much of the to-do over our current president can be attributed to current peccadilloes — some over political difference of opinion, others over fears that Public Enemy really did usher in a black planet — much of it just comes down to media being media.
Knut, the German polar bear, is back from the dead! His taxidermied corpse is now blocking the entrance to the Berlin natural history museum, menacing all who dare learn about trilobites, ancient arrowheads or whatever Germans dig up in their backyards. (Traces of the camps where they eliminated all of the ancient Neanderthals?)
We warned you, Germany. When Knut’s mother abandoned him, we told you he was no good. When he turned on children, we told you it was too late to put the monster back in its cage. When he became a prima donna and wouldn’t perform his two shows daily, we told you that it was time to put him on an ice flow. And now that he’s dead, we told you to leave him be.
A shipment of 18 fully intact human heads failed to clear customs at Chicago O’Hare International Airport. They are currently being held by the Cook County Medical Examiner’s Office until their paperwork is sorted out. Once cleared, they should make it to their intended destination, a research facility near Chicago.
Hey, at least they didn’t get delivered to the wrong address.