This Day in Death

4.15.12: Robin Gibb of the Bee Gees – HANGING ON!

Filed under: Hanging On —James @ 8:44 am April 16, 2012

Robin is the cool-looking one.


According to, uh, Catholic Online (because it was the first search result and research is hard), Robin Gibb of the Bee Gees has fallen into a coma after a bout of pneumonia and is reportedly near death. So get ready to delete those two Whitney Houston songs you frantically downloaded in February and replace them with “To Love Somebody” and “I Started a Joke.” Pretending to give a shit must be exhausting.

The development comes as little surprise: Gibb has been in failing health for the past few years, including suffering from a twisted bowel, which is behind only Pink Sock Disease on my list of shamefully humorous yet bizarre illnesses that I had previously assumed were just made up to justify the continued production of ER. I really need to stop making so many lists.

Alright, Block Quote: Give me something to fill out this post so I don’t have to resort to the weak “Stayin’ Alive” joke everyone on Facebook is gonna be patting themselves on the back for making next week.

News of Gibb’s condition elicited a flood of support on social network sites and in the music community.

Rocker Peter Frampton tweeted “My positive thoughts go out to Robin Gibb and all of the Gibb family. I am wishing you the best and hope for a quick recovery. Much love 2 U.”

“Much love 2 U?” Jesus, Frampton, is Prince writing your tweets for you? It’s nice to see that you treat a fellow musician’s imminent death with the same solemn dignity that a fourteen-year-old girl injects into a one-handed text message. Make a damn effort and type that shit out. You’re already on thin ice for Blues Brothers 2000. If movies could feel shame that thing would’ve committed seppuku on opening night.


Source: Catholic Online

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4.1.12: Guy Whose 14-Year-Old Cousin Got Him in a “Rear Naked Choke Hold” – DEAD! Wait, What?

Filed under: Dead —James @ 8:36 am April 13, 2012

Yes, “rear naked choke hold” was already in my Google Images search history. Why do you ask?


If you’re going to attempt something you watched a WWE star do you should limit yourself to relatively low-risk things, like wearing neon bicep tassels or marrying Brooke Hogan.  Or, at the very least, avoid anything that involves more than two of the words found in the phrase “rear naked choke hold.” Louisiana man Stephan Arceneaux never read that pamphlet at the community college, I guess.

According to St. Charles Parish Sheriff Greg Champagne, Arceneaux had gathered with friends at a home on Murray Hill Drive to watch the pay-per-view event “Wrestlemania 28” on television when he and a 14-year-old cousin began to wrestle on an inflated mattress on the floor. The juvenile, who is 5 feet, 6 inches tall and weighs 110 pounds, placed his arm around the neck of Arceneaux, who was 5 feet, 10 inches tall and weighed 220 pounds, in a move commonly known as a “rear naked choke hold” for 30 to 40 seconds.

Witnesses reported that Arceneaux said he would not give up or “tap out.”

FUCK NO HE DIDN’T. It would’ve made his Tapout shirt painfully ironic, and that’s the kinda East Coast elitist literary device that don’t fly in the bayou. No, down there allegory and synecdoche rule the day, motherfucker!

But at some point, someone noticed that Arceneaux was turning blue and told the youngster to release the hold. When he did, witnesses realized that Arceneaux had stopped breathing and dialed 911, shortly after 10 p.m.

Well, we’ve all learned a lesson here: It’s never a good idea to try to imitate professional wrestling moves. Except for the Bushwacker Walk. That’s just classy. It’s how my father walked down the aisle, you know.



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4.5.12: Malawi President Bingu Wa Mutharika – DEAD!

Filed under: Dead —James @ 9:10 am April 12, 2012

Malawi may not be setting a great example for how to run a country, but it’s hard to deny the allure of their annual Pimp Rodeo.

Delightfully insane Malawian president Bingu wa Mutharika died last Thursday after suffering from cardiac arrest, and I’m kinda relieved about it, because otherwise I might’ve been forced to break my 15-day streak of not writing the words Trayvon Martin on this blog. No way we’re gonna be walking on that lawn, solely because I don’t wanna hear your stupid opinions. I’ve already made my feelings known about listening to your half-assed, self-righteous bullshit and can conclusively state that everything you believe is completely incorrect and you should be ashamed of yourselves for believing your thoughts have any substance to them whatsoever. Oh! By the way; Remember to ‘like’ us on Facebook!

I’m gonna urge you to go ahead and read this whole article because this guy was about ten different flavors of nuts, but here’s the obvious money shot:

A brittle and mercurial man, Mutharika’s behaviour grew so erratic that some Malawians would question his sanity. He abandoned his presidential palace in Lilongwe not out of shame over inhabiting its 300 luxurious rooms, built for $100 million in a country suffering abject poverty, but because he declared it to be haunted and claimed that invisible rodents were running all over him at night.

Exorcists were duly summoned to this vast residence, set in 1,300 acres of grounds (constructed, in fairness, not by Mutharika himself but by Malawi’s equally eccentric first president, Hastings Kamuzu Banda). A sleepless and terrified Mutharika went to stay elsewhere while his aide for religious affairs urged sympathetic priests to “pray for the New State House to exorcise evil spirits”.

YES. YES. ABSOLUTELY YES. We don’t have enough world leaders doing such endearingly crazy shit. Usually when a president loses his mind he just cuts everyone’s kneecaps off and sells them to China or something. Mutharika’s ghost mouse infestation is downright charming by comparison. It’s a throwback to simpler times, like when Jimmy Carter banned all use of the letter ‘L.’ That was a weird six months, man.


Source: The Telegraph

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4.1.12: 114-Year-Old Pediatrician Dr. Leila Denmark – DEAD!

Filed under: Dead —James @ 8:05 am April 11, 2012

Denmark, seen here loading the counterweight on her controversial baby catapult.


It’s no secret that kids are terrible. Their small frames allow them to bond together physically to create unstoppably dense super-children.* Nobody knows where they’re coming from or where they go to after siphoning off our breast-related resources, and the scientists don’t even seem to be trying to figure out why new ones are constantly showing up. But doctors have nonetheless maintained a vested interest in preserving them, I assume so that they can study them and therefore create anti-bodies to defend us from the deadly space diseases children spread via the toxin vents located on their necks. Their slimy, slimy necks.

But now someone else will have to depress those creepy forked tongues because Dr. Leila Denmark, the country’s oldest practicing pediatrician, has passed away at the age of 114.

Leila Denmark practised medicine in Atlanta for 73 years, building up a devoted following among local parents and their children. She recalled that, when she first began to practise, the air in the city was so thick with smoke “by 10 o’clock you had a moustache” [editor’s note: ZING!]; meanwhile, as there was no tinned baby food, mothers would chew meals for their children. Even so, she felt that children were healthier then than they were when she retired. “When I was a child, there was no such thing as a baby doctor on Earth. We had very little medicine, very little surgery, no immunisations and no baby food,” she told an interviewer. “Yet the children weren’t sick like they are today because their mothers fed them right … Today, 85 per cent of children in the United States go to day care, and they are sick all the time. I’m not one to say let’s go back to the past, but there is something to be learned from that.”

Either dementia had set in or Denmark was just fucking with us because there’s no way people used to chew food for their children. Is she thinking of birds? I think she’s thinking of birds. They’re always doing stupid shit like that, like using their beaks to build nests. Hey birds: Get some opposable digits already. Your homes look like something Frank Gehry sketched out while driving through a construction zone. Also, the Yellow-billed Chough doesn’t need both a graculus subspecies and a digitatus subspecies. It just makes you look pretentious. There, somebody finally said it. Now let’s get back to that dead therapist lady or whatever.

At her back garden clinic Leila Denmark employed neither a receptionist nor a nurse, relying on a sign-in chart to regulate her waiting room. Yet she made herself available to families at all hours of the day and night. When she began to practise, an appointment to see her cost $4. By the time she retired aged 103, she had more than doubled her fees — to $10 per visit. Although failing eyesight eventually forced her to retire, she continued to dispense medical advice over the telephone until the age of 110.

Alright, well… this woman appeared to be a goddamn saint and it’s kinda putting me in a bind here. I seem to be biologically incapable of ending a post without saying something hurtful about a recognized figure. I can already feel my skin starting to turn all dry and sallow. Sleep will not be coming easy tonight.




Source: The Telegraph

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4.7.12: Mike Wallace – DEAD!

Filed under: Dead —James @ 6:41 am April 10, 2012

Wallace, seen here in 1965 interviewing a microphone. Viewers assumed he was insane, but three intense hours later that microphone confessed to the murder of Kitty Genovese.


Legendary 60 Minutes journalist Mike Wallace passed away on Saturday at the age of 93. He was eaten by a snow leopard. No, that was just a joke. You see, it’s extremely unlikely that a man of Wallace’s age and background would be in such close proximity to an animal as dangerous as a snow leopard. There simply would be no logical reason for it. And even on the off chance that he was around one, the encounter would no doubt be strictly supervised by trained professionals, dramatically decreasing the likelihood of injury during an already doubtful scenario. Therefore, the surprise registered as a result of the juxtaposition of your perception of him with the idea that he was, in fact, eaten by a snow leopard is humorous. Okay, I’ve warmed them up for you, New York Times. Take it away!

A reporter with the presence of a performer, Mr. Wallace went head to head with chiefs of state, celebrities and con artists for more than 50 years, living for when “you forget the lights, the cameras, everything else, and you’re really talking to each other,” he said in an interview with The New York Times videotaped in July 2006 and released on his death as part of the online feature “Last Word.”

Mr. Wallace created enough such moments to become a paragon of television journalism in the heyday of network news. As he grilled his subjects, he said, he walked “a fine line between sadism and intellectual curiosity.”

Hang on, he… he meant that “sadistic grilling” thing as a metaphor, right? Because otherwise we all missed a Seven-level confession there. We should get someone to ask some questions about that. Hey! How about Mike Wallace?! Oh wait. Nevermind.

Mr. Wallace invented his hard-boiled persona on a program called “Night Beat.” Television was black and white, and so was the discourse, when the show went on in 1956, weeknights at 11, on the New York affiliate of the short-lived DuMont television network.

“We had lighting that was warts-and-all close-ups,” he remembered. The camera closed in tighter and tighter on the guests. The smoke from Mr. Wallace’s cigarette swirled between him and his quarry. Sweat beaded on his subject’s brows.

“I was asking tough questions,” he said. “And I had found my bliss.” He had become Mike Wallace.

And now with Wallace gone it doesn’t look like anyone’s going to be stepping up to ask the tough questions about the real issues that affect this country, like why the hell Netflix sent me Friday After Next before sending me Next Friday. I stopped watching as soon as I realized the mistake, but by then it was halfway over and the damage was already done.


Source: The New York Times

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4.6.12: Thomas Kinkade, the “Painter of Light” – DEAD!

Filed under: Dead —James @ 6:13 am April 9, 2012


He and Bob Ross are in heaven now, taking turns fingerblasting Georgia O’Keeffe in the alley behind Space Arby’s. The afterlife is filthy.


Thomas Kinkade, the self-proclaimed “Painter of Light” (a title he stole from J.M.W. Turner during what I have to assume was the most effete SummerSlam ever), died on Friday at the age of 54. The assumed culprit is natural causes, which doesn’t sound oddly vague at all. One thing we can be certain of, though: Your grandma’s kitchen calendar will never be the same. You should start brainstorming a new thoughtless Christmas gift for her now.

The art world often criticized Kinkade’s style, flea market-ready schlockscapes bathed in the kind of gauzy lightness that made Norman Rockwell look like H.R. Giger, as nothing more than an attempt at creating an easily mass-produced empire aimed squarely at the lowest common denominator. Essentially, that he was the Tyler Perry of log cabin paintings. But if he was such a shameless panderer wouldn’t I have an hilariously overwrought and pretentious quote to stick in right about………… NOW?

“Art is forever,” Kinkade told “60 Minutes” in 2007. “It goes front and center on your wall, where everyday the rest of your life you see that image. And it is shaping your children, it’s shaping your life.”

Well I’m convinced. And inspired! So here’s a painting I just whipped up of me punching the moon.


I really like the way it captures my passion for punching the moon.


Source: Mercury News

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4.5.12: Jim Marshall, Founder of Marshall Amps – DEAD!

Filed under: Dead —James @ 6:53 pm April 6, 2012

I can’t say with any high degree of certainty that this isn’t just a screencap from The Seventh Seal. Note to self: Research things.


For many white suburban youths, picking out your first guitar amp is an emotional and psychological rite of passage, like tying a bottle rocket to a squirrel’s back, or finding out your sister and her husband are swingers. For decades the hands down winner for most “Stay out of my room!” has been Marshall amps, the choice of everyone from the 15-year-old trying to play Smells Like Teen Spirit to the 15-year-old trying to play Come as You Are. Because barre chords can go fuck themselves, apparently.

So if your local post-high school burnout was wearing a black armband when he sold you your dimebag today, the death of Marshall Amplification founder Jim Marshall was most likely to blame. Marshall, whose amps were adopted by Eric Clapton, Pete Townshend and Jimi Hendrix, had been suffering from both cancer and multiple strokes before finally passing away Thursday morning. On a positive note, he was 88, meaning he outlived rock music by a solid 35 years. If anyone’s bought a guitar since 1993 it was probably because they assumed it was some kind of sex toy. Hell, I’m pretty sure Rick Nielsen is single-handedly keeping the steel string industry alive.


Source: The Washington Post


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4.4.12: Wife Buried in Husband’s Front Yard – STILL DEAD!

Filed under: Dead —James @ 8:23 am April 5, 2012

Fun Fact: Helen Keller was from Alabama, although she left at around age six and never returned. So, yes, even a blind and deaf six-year-old knows better than to stay in Alabama.


It’s been a slow week for death. More specifically, it’s a slow week for the kind of death that lends itself to pop culture references and dick jokes. I mean, the guy from “Forbidden Planet” died, but that didn’t register very strong with me because I’m not a thousand years old. Hey old people: If you wanna get my attention try dying younger. Duh. There’s also this story about a dude who got hacked into pieces in his own home, but that’s the kind of morbid shit that’s really hard to write about when you’re just trying to work through a stockpile of “Alf” jokes. So let’s go with something else: A story about a guy who’s got the government of Alabama putting the screws to him to remove the corpse of his wife from his front lawn. I’m pretty sure Skynyrd wrote a whole concept album about that. It was awful.

Jim Davis, who appears to be neither goth nor the creator of the popular comic strip Garfield,

Well, fuck. I guess I just wasted a solid ten minutes on this Photoshop. It’s probably just as well, since nobody needs to see Odie doing that with a human femur. Moving on…

…buried his wife, Patsy, in his yard one month after her death in April of 2009, nine days after city council denied his request to do so.

Her tombstone inscription reads “Grand Old Lady.”

While his county’s Health Department approved the establishment of a private cemetery on Davis’ property from a sanitary standpoint, the city argues that the grave will lower property values in his neighborhood.

Davis counters that his neighbors’ homes are “falling apart,” their yards “littered with junk.” How much of a difference could one or two little bitty corpses make?

Fair point, but honestly… what the hell are you trying to do? Buried people aren’t seeds, you’re not gonna sprout a Woman Tree on your lawn. Magistrate Judge Robinson made that point extremely salient to me.

For his part, Davis argues that it’s his right as an American to bury his wife on his property.

“This is my piece of the United States. I don’t own [any] more of this world, just this. As long as I own this she’s here.”

What a hassle. Of course, the obvious way to avoid these kinds of problems is by not getting married and simply willing away the ability to love another human being. Once again, it looks like disturbed, unloved loners were ahead of the curve. I’ll definitely be bringing this up at our next meeting.


Source: Gawker

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3.29.12: Legally Dead Old Lady – HANGING ON!

Filed under: Hanging On —James @ 4:33 am April 4, 2012

Did you know that Carl von Linné, a Swede, is responsible for the extensive classification system of species and families that we still use for all plants and animals? There. Now you learned something and don’t have to feel bad about spending the rest of your workday reading Smurfs slash fiction.


An elderly woman in Sweden has received a letter from a tax agency that declared her deceased. When reached for comment the woman said the experience was almost as unpleasant as paying her taxes. HA HA! LENO’D! But for real, she didn’t say that.

The mistake has plagued her life – meaning that she is officially recorded as “dead” at any establishment with a record of her details.

When the 87-year-old recently needed to get medicine from the chemist, for example, she was denied her prescription as the chemist’s records stated that she was a “non-existing person”.

“She saw that I was standing there and that I had my proof of identity with me, so after a while I was allowed to get my medicine anyway. But it dragged out a good while,” the woman said.

She has also been forced to contact the social insurance agency and her bank to make sure her pension keeps coming in.

GodDAMMIT, lady. You’re OFF the grid! Why are you fighting this? Sure, you can’t get your old lady pills, but you know what you *can* do when everyone thinks you’re dead? Any fucking thing you want. Anything! Untreated osteoporosis is a small price to pay when you can rob a bank or steal a police cruiser or burn down a museum. They have no way of finding you! The whole scam’s been working out gangbusters for Tupac! For fuck’s sake, it’s like elderly white women haven’t learned anything from 90s rap. We’re gonna watch this “Life Goes On” video one more time, but I’m getting really sick of screening this at nursing homes. You people don’t appreciate a fucking thing.

Source: The Local

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4.1.12: Former Mexican President Miguel de la Madrid – DEAD!

Filed under: Dead —James @ 5:37 am April 3, 2012

“Tiny pipes are the new ironic scarves!” -Hipster Miguel de la Madrid


Everyone’s favorite Apocalypse-centric horseman (go fuck yourself, Pestilence!) has struck again, this time claiming former Mexican president Miguel de la Madrid. In the 1980s de la Madrid came under massive criticism for refusing international aid after an 8.0 earthquake struck Mexico City. I would tell you more of what I’ve learned about him, but CNN felt that any more than nine sentences of information in their story would dilute the journalistic integrity that gave us seven articles about the guy who sang “Daydream Believer”. Nice job, boys. Hit me with a block quote and then take the rest of the day off.

Family members told CNN that the former president died Sunday morning in Mexico City. He had been hospitalized to treat complications of pulmonary emphysema. Without offering details, his office said the cause of death was a “long illness.”

CNN then returned to its busy schedule of trying to explain Twitter to Wolf Blitzer and reminding people that Piers Morgan exists. News!


Source: CNN

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