Whitney Houston, singer, actress, renowned crackhead, died Saturday night at age 48 from unknown causes. As always, I sat down with the recently deceased for an interview.
Me: Well . . . I can’t really say that this is unexpected.
WH: But I was only 48, man. 48! 48!!! FORTY-EIGHT!
Me: Yeah, but that’s like 140 in coke-head years.
WH: Man, y’know who I am? Whitney!
Me: Yes, something you’ve reminded us over and over again with your *ahem* cleverly titled albums over the years.
WH: ‘m whtny.
Me: Your godmother, Aretha Franklin, is almost 70 years old, and she outlived you. Do you think she has any R-E-S-P-E-C-T for you?
WH: I dunno, man.
Me: What about Bobby Brown? How the hell did he outlive you?
WH: ‘m mtherfuggin whtny.
Me: Was there anyone with whom you wanted to dance or feel the heat but now you can’t?
WH: dg th bnty huntr.
Me: Did you say “Dog the Bounty Hunter?” That’s an interesting choice. Let’s take the interview in another direction.
WH: Yes, plz. I’mmmm WHITNEY!
Me: Indeed. How does it feel for you to have gone from one of the best-recognized voices in the world and a best-selling musical artist, coming from gospel roots, to an example to boys and girls everywhere about what not to do with oodles of money and access to drugs?
WH: Yrrr a mean, mean man.
Me: I’m not mean. I’m just not one of those people who think that just because you have one talent, you should be excused for otherwise being a waste of human flesh. Being famous doesn’t give you leeway for being a shitty person. In fact, it puts a larger onus on you to be a role model to everyone.
WH: Whasss onus?
Me: There is one plus to all of this, though.
Me: Yeah. At least for the next week or so, more people will be talking about you than the unfunny terrible Whitney Cummings.
WH: mthfggn whtny
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