The King is gone but not forgotten!

This is one I wrote some time back, but with the recent passing of Michael Jackson, I think it is a topic that needs to be revisited.

Ding Dong, the King is dead!! That's right folks, Elvis Presley is dead. No, he's not at a swap meet in Kalamazoo, he's not playing bass for a Metallica cover band, he wasn't in the movie "Bubba Ho-tep" and he didn't play Dan on "Roseanne" (that was John Goodman...or was it John Candy?).

Elvis was a very proud man. He was the most recognizable figure on the planet at one time and the idol of millions of adoring ladies. He probably slept with more women than Wilt Chamberlain claims. Sure, Elvis couldn't go out in public and have a good time. He wasn't able to roll into the White Castle parking lot at 10 pm on a Friday and order a sack of 20 with cheese, hold the pickles and onions. Stardom has its' trappings and can be a lonely experience, but it's not so bad that one of the most famous, proud men to have ever walked the earth, would find it so awful that he would fake his own death while........pooping.

Stay with me here. This leaves so much to the imagination and it's repulsive enough that even I want to believe he's alive. Who wants to die while pounding one out? I suppose the King sat on the throne a lot, that's what kings do, but I don't think he said "Hmmmm, this would be a nice place to die....thank ya, thank ya very much."It's well known that Elvis loved pain pills. He was fighting the war on drugs long before Nancy and Ron asked us to "Just Say No". Yep, Ole Elvis loved us so much, he ate all the pills he could, just to keep them off the streets of America. Now, not that I know, but I have "heard" that pain pills can stop you up. Render your sphincter useless for quite some time. Bind up the bunghole. You know what I'm saying. Elvis' last words were probably something like this "Ohhh....come on...come on outta there. Gotta drop off these kids at the pool." He'd probably been perched there for a couple of hours and lost feelings in his legs. Push, Push!! Bam, there goes his heart and he tumbles onto the floor all sweaty and frustrated. Then, he dies. He died trying to give birth to a brown baby. He tried to take the Browns to the Super Bowl and like Brian Sipe, Tim Couch, and Bernie Kosar before him, could not deliver. But at least he died tryin'!

That's all you need. Elvis is dead. Believe me, dying in a male hookers bed, while 3 midgets were eating peanut butter off of him would have been more appealing for the King than to go to heaven while seeing a man about a dog!

"You're kisses lift me higher, than the sweet sounds of a choir..."

Burning Love--Elvis Presley