How can you mend this broken man?
Maurice Ernest Gibb was never played in a game.
"Put a coupla pennies on Ol' Blue Eyes .... He's a goner."
No, that's no good. We gotta do better than that. How 'bout
"Start spreadin' the news -- he's dead."
No, that's lame. This death is big. This death is bigger than big. It's huge. We need something really fantastic, like
"The Chairman is as stiff as a board."
That sucks. Dammit, we've got to think harder!
"From Here To Eternity."
Awful.
"Shot down in May."
Pathetic. Wait a sec,
"He did it--"
No, no, that's worse than the Henny Youngman thing. Jesus, the pressure is killing us. Do you people have any idea what this is like? Seventy-five million of you bloodthirsty sons-of-bitches are gonna be checking into this site right here, just to see what we write about Frank, and you know what? Yeah, he was a big star and a boozer and a womanizer and a pig and everything, but we know you bastards, and you're vicious. You're gonna want us to go for the jugular on this one, and man, we just weren't ready. Yeah, yeah, we shoulda seen it coming, it's true, but, jeez, the guy's like a statue or something, you know? Somehow, we just couldn't imagine it really, actually happening. And now it's happened, and we're completely stuck. Shit. We're fucked. We've been waiting and waiting for them to plant this old fart and put us in the spotlight, and now that baby's trained right on us, and we don't know what the hell to do. Okay, hang on. We've just got to pull it together and give it our best shot. Okay. Let's take a deep breath. We can get through this. Alright. Here we go. Ready?
"He's been a puppet, a pauper, a pirate, a poet -- and now he's a corpse."
God, that's horrible. Sorry.
(d) May 14th, 1998