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Monday, February 27, 2006


Death...Exciting and Ne-e-e-ew

Something's going on. Some plot is afoot. Someone, with sinister intent, is bumping off a Love Boat-full of 70s television's B-stars. Why? Toward what end, I'm asking, are these fiends doing away with our beloved former Hollywood Squares guests?

First Don Knotts. (Ron Rotts! Ron Rotts!) Okay. So we're sad and we mourn the loss.

Then Darren McGavin. Holy shit! What're the odds that two polyester-age icons (Mr. Furley and Kolchak!) should kick it within hours of each other? The odds are pretty damn long, people. They're pretty damn long.

Okay. I can maybe--maybe--chalk this up to coincidence. They were both in their early 80s and reaching that age will tend to take its toll on a guy. So, I thought, yeah, maybe the two deaths were unrelated.

Until today.

Dennis Weaver? One of the great yokel-on-the-big-city-police-force-types of all kind? (I'd rank him a notch above Due South's Mountie Benton Fraser and twenty times better than Enos.) This is not a guy who would just willingly succumb to the Grim Reaper. There's more to it than that. There's got to be.

Which is why I think there's some foul doings going on here. Someone is out to get these guys. We need to warn them. We need to protect them.

Let's get James Garner into protective custody! Somebody buy Dirk Benedict a bullet-proof vest! Has anyone checked in on Conrad Bain lately?

Listen, these people are national treasures (in a loose interpretation of the phrase) and we need to preserve them. We need to get to the bottom of this.

What could be happening? Has Ricardo Montalban gone insane and decided to take out anyone who ever guested on Fantasy Island? Are movie producers looking to ramp up the visibility of old TV shows to drum up interest in big-screen remakes? Is this some geriatric version of Final Destination 4? Stop the madness!

I just fear that I'll wake up tomorrow and hear that Jim Nabors kicked it. I don't think I could deal with that.

You may be a king, or a common street sweeper, but sooner or later, you'll dance with the Reaper.

Sorry, about the spate of deaths. I got hungry.
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