If Jack Nicholson Dies I’m Becoming A Nihilist
People are dying. And it’s worrying me. I’m not talking about the Somalis. I’m not talking about the Egyptians. I’m talking about celebrities. People like Ryan Dunn. Or that guy who played Kanicky in Grease. Randy Savage. Elizabeth Taylor for god’s sake. Pete Postlethwaite – I didn’t know his name either I just knew him as “that guy who plays Kobayashi” in the Usual Suspects. Leslie Nielson. I’m still not over that. But all these deaths seem to be aggregating toward some tragic event of the highest significance. Obviously I’m talking about the death of Jack Nicholson.
Don’t panic! I didn’t say Jack Nicholson is dead. I’m simply suggesting that he’s probably next on the list of legends to die. He’s the best. Everyone knows that. One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, The Shining, The Postman Always Rings Twice; beacons of hope that are the only reason I believe in God. And I believe his best work is still to come. But we all know that these past couple years haven’t been kind to our best celebrities. Clearly he might be next. When he dies, anything with meaning will die with him. It’s going to be a dark day. It’ll be like watching a Mogwai and unicorn die at the same time. There will be signs that his death is approaching. The first is the death of Mel Gibson. That right there is going to be bad enough; I’ll be grieving and heaving. The second sign has something to do with Grape Nuts and a shellfish. Now that I think about it, Mel Gibson might have to die while eating Grape Nuts at a Shell station.
It doesn’t matter. The point is that when Jack Nicholson dies, I’m officially becoming a nihilist. What else will there be to live for? I’ll never have the opportunity to make a fresh omelet; with Jack Nicholson. I’ll never be able to watch Totoro while trippin’ on mushrooms; with Jack Nicholson. I will never be able to blow fifty grand on a night at Vegas, and the next morning steal the towels; with Jack Nicholson. How much bleaker can it possibly get?
I can guess what you’re thinking. “But sir! How in heaven’s name would you be able to do those things with Jack Nicholson to begin with? You know you only have three grand – one point five grand – five hundred thirty dollars – to your name.” Well you’re right. But all this thinking about the possibility of Jack Nicholson dying is making my blood sugar drop and I suddenly do not care about faculties of reason. I just want to the pain to stop. All the color of this universe has been drained away like a wilted tulip. Don’t fuss with me; for god’s sake didn’t you hear? Jack Nicholson’s dead!
Again, he’s not dead. But now I think you understand that I’m creating a scenario here. A scenario in which, quite possibly the greatest actor, nay, the greatest celebrity has fallen into the grinding jaws of death. I’ll bet here and now that if he dies, another Three Mile Island incident is going to happen and we’ll never get to watch the conclusion of Walking Dead (only on AMC) because we’ll be too busy beating off real zombies resulting from devastating radiation. But I won’t care. Jack Nicholson’s dead anyway.
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I’m convinced that Angela Bassett is a witch for being able to look that good at the age of 55.
Experiment so you know exactly what you want, but keep your number low.
Go break a leg!
…Why? Because JAMES FRANCO, that’s why.