Holy Shit! Everybody’s Falling Apart ‘Cept Me! (At Least Not Yet)

Holy Shit! Everybody’s Falling Apart ‘Cept Me! (At Least Not Yet)

Bad enough a trio of celebs died since the turn of this young year – Natalie Cole, David Bowe and Alan Rickman – all just in their sixties. But I’ve also recently had my share of guys much closer to home either falling apart or going bye-bye.

In December, it was Steve, a poz, 6 foot four, burly, furry, built-like-a-wrestler methhead/cokehead who traded a promising career as a farm animal vet out in his native Iowa for the minimum wage jobs and party times of Fort Lauderdale thirty years ago. A week before Christmas, he never woke up. Age: 54.

Then there was Jay, a millionaire entrepreneur I met through buddies on the beach who lost it all, he claims to early dementia, and now lived on Social Security disability, but in reality traded the heroin addiction of his youth for booze. He either accidentally OD’d on his brain meds – he’d often forget if he had taken them or not – or did it intentionally, realizing the only future he had left was drooling in some nursing home once his mind was gone. Maybe it’s a good thing we’ll never know which. Age: 59.

Phil, a fellow college prof from my days teaching down here, and a half of a bed hopping duo with his partner, Ted, ended up in the hospital for New Years with hepatitis C. Was that toy boy from Guatemala they kept as clean as they thought? Age 48.

And then there’s Shaw, the body shop wizard who I modeled my super handsome, super leather man Gil after for my novel, “The Czar of Wilton Drive,” Shaw, a methhead’s methhead, casting couch material, poz and a toy boy more than once in his life, who was just diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. He turned the Big Four-0 on Thanksgiving Day.

Were drugs or sex or being poz and taking all those powerful, almost toxic anti-viral meds, or a mix of all of them responsible for their health problems or early demise? Hey, I ain’t no doctor.

All I know is that I’m older than all of them and outside of this stenosis of the spine I probably inherited, I haven’t got a fucken thing wrong with me.

At least not yet, that is.

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