Category Archives: WTF

This Onion Reeks

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I woke up this morning still disgusted.

Satirical news site The Onion is known for its quick quips and scathing, if generally tongue in cheek, mockery of current events. The joke officially crossed the line with Oscar nominee, Quvenzhané Wallis of Beasts of the Southern Wild, when someone at the site tweeted “Everyone else seems afraid to say it, but that Quvenzhané Wallis is kind of a c***, right?” (The tweeted version was not censored.)

Yes, the tweet was deleted within minutes of being posted. I’m sure it is because they quickly realized it was appalling on so many levels, but I am also guessing the immediate backlash of an outraged public displaying our collective disgust helped.

It is deplorable to no end that an adult had such a nasty thought about a child.  Let alone be so amused by the repugnance, as to tweet it out to the world.  The c-word as an adjective is by and far still considered one of the most vulgar words one can use against a woman. Yet someone at The Onion thought it was okay, in fact funny, to use such against a young child. How young? Nine years old, young; young enough to carry puppy themed purses to the all of the award events to which her talent has been acknowledged, young.

And on the biggest night of her young life, thus far, someone thought it was satirically brilliant to call her the c-word before the world.  I’m sure Wallis’ mother appreciated the astute, rapier-witted humor The Onion had for her child.

Not that any word picking on a child, especially on such a prestigious night, would have been acceptable, but why that word?  Why a word with such sexual connotations? Why against a child? And let’s just throw it out there, why against a Black child?  Because being an adult actress of color in Hollywood is such a cake walk as it is. Let’s give Quvenzhané something to look forward to as she pursues her career.

And As sexist and misogynist as many of Seth McFarland’s jokes were throughout the night, The Onion in one loutish tweet suddenly made him a class act. I will however quote him on one joke he got right regarding Quvenzhané Wallis “You’ll be at the future Oscars when the rest of us are dead.”

Yes, with talent like hers, she will be at many more Oscars and when she finally wins…?

Boy, oh boy, I cannot wait to hear her acceptance speech then!

Judge Not, Lest Ye…

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Ulanda Williams, a social worker in New York City, fell into a hole when the sidewalk beneath her collapsed last week. Ms. Williams was waiting for a bus and sought shelter under an awning when it began to rain when the ground gave way seconds later. Not falling straight through to the cellar below, she wound up wedged in the hole instead, it took special FDNY equipment to pull her out. She was taken to a hospital and was released the next day.  Ms. Williams was extremely fortunate that her injuries were limited to a broken arm, cuts, scrapes and bruises.  Apparently EMS and FDNY concurred that a smaller person may have died from the drop. It is Ulanda’s size that likely saved her life.

And that (her size), as they say, is the rub.

Granted, in each article I’ve read, the news sources have taken care to mention that upon inspection it was determined by the NYC Department of Buildings that defective steel doors and a loose staircase were partially responsible for the four- by-six-foot slab of concrete’s collapse. However, that part of the story is almost seems a side-note to the main article. Why?

Because in each of the sources that I’ve read, the story was not that a woman nearly fell to her possible death due to a poorly maintained structure. The immediate focus for each of them was that the woman in question was nearly six and a half feet tall and weighed 400 pounds, according to the New York Post. Yes, Ms. Williams is in one word fat. Journalisms presumed penchant for being unbiased (yeah I know), went out the freaking window once her size was known. Don’t believe me?

Here is the lead-in line for the Huffington Post article? “Looks like she got her big break.”

The New York Post’s opening salvo? “Size does matter!”

Oh, and my personal favorite, the first sentence from RoadRunner:  “Whoever says good things come in small packages hasn’t met Ulanda Williams. Williams, who is 32 years old and tips the scales at 400 pounds, claims she owes her life to her trailer-truck physique.”

Oh, look they so funny! So why the hell am I not laughing?

Why is it when something happens to a person of size in the news it becomes all about the fat?

Even in their headlines, headers and web links, the view is already skewed to immediately blame the victim.

*Woman who fell through sidewalk says her ‘girth’ saved her

*http://www.nypost.com/p/news/local/manhattan/too_big_to_fall_Fz8VbWLT2tMkq9gvShHF0J

*Ulanda Williams, 400-lb Woman, Falls Through Sidewalk In New York City

I am not saying that her weight did not contribute to the incident.  My complaint is how the media specifically and the public at large focused mainly on her weight as the culprit. Fellow blogger and someone I’m lucky to call friend, TheNatural54 rightly notes that if this were two men of average size who had fallen, or even a tackle for the Jets or Giants football team (because we know tackles are rarely small guys), the focus would be more on the badly maintained property and not their weight.

I generally do not read the comments on such stories unless I just want to be pissed off and appalled at a bunch of strangers who are never worth the energy spent in the ensuing foul mood that will then color my day.  Unfortunately, because this story came to my attention from various fronts, I wound up reading quite a few comments and yes, I was pissed. From their view it seems the concrete collapsing would never have happened to someone of a smaller size and that just is not accurate. But for the sake of devil’s advocacy let’s just say it really was all about the poundage.  What is it about being over a very subjective number that a person is no longer considered worthy of basic decency and respect anyway?  The mocking bullshit tweeted by Rupert Murdock before issuing a not even half-assed retraction (because it damn sure was not an apology), notwithstanding – the general public is absolutely vicious and loves using the mask of the internet to spew its fat hating vitriol, especially fat women.

If it had been a smaller woman who fell there would be much sympathy for her and anger against the building owners/managers.  Ulanda Williams has cuts, scrapes, bruises and an arm broken in not just one, but two places from her ordeal, why does her weight not entitle her  to such?

Judge not, lest ye…

A Stark Raivenne Mad Fat Girl In A Victoria’s Secrets World

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A few of my friends will recognize the following event as it actually happened quite some time ago. However, in the hustle and bustle of this holiday season as I found myself in a very similar situation yet again, I have to tell it here just for the amusement – enjoy!

I walked into a local Victoria’s Secret with my best friend. The music coming through the speakers, greets us with various sultry sounding women with descant reprising the equivalent if not necessarily equal musical verse and chapter of how her man has done her wrong, once more, yet again. Because yes, while I’m alone at home, crying my eyes out into yet another gallon of Rocky Road ice cream and popping chocolate truffles like crack, I will want to be wearing hundred-dollar lingerie – but that’s just me.

Actually, that is a moot point. My best friend is the one buying. I’m just tagging along, as the only thing I can truly wear in this establishment is their cologne. For this bastion of beauty designed to adorn the feminine figure with a tempest of frail looking, but delectable lingerie delights had long ago decided that said feminine figures end at a numerical amount somewhat below the number of the ample mold the dear Lord as blessed upon me.

I touch silver links joining together a triangular swatch of silk I first presumed to be an eye patch before I realized it’s actually a thong. I then make the mistake of catching the eye of one of the pretty little sales girls who then swoops upon me like a hawk upon a tit mouse in a national forest park. My best friend, having endured my “I just want to fuck with folks mood” whenever we enter an establishment such as this, had wisely walked away from me knowing nothing good was going to come of this start of a beautiful friendship.

The sales girl wants to know, of course, if she can help me. Her eyebrow locked in that know-it-all “…because you can’t possibly be here making a purchase for yourself!” arch. I barely bite down the first instinct guiding my tongue to say something sweet like “Gain a hundred pounds, live with it for -oh- twenty or so years and come to a place like this – then ask me that question again”. Instead, because I am already bored, I ask if they carry plus sizes. She perked right up informing me (quite enthusiastically I might add), that they carry sizes all the way up to 38F! I smile sweetly, pick-up the nearest 36F I saw and held it up against my ‘numbers’. It was something akin to measuring golf ball against a baseball – but it was enough to wipe the self-satisfied arch off her brow.

Still, the poor, poor child didn’t take the hint and continued to follow me through the store actually answering what ever inane question popped in to my head. I saw a small black thin band of what appeared to be spandex and stretched it a bit. I was actually surprised, as I held it up for the sales girl to the see just as I was about to place it over my hair.

“When did Vicki’s start carrying headbands?” The look of shock on the sales girls face made me stop in mid-air.
“It’s a bandeau bra not a headband.” You’d think the icy coolness dripping of her voice would have stopped me right? Wrong!
“Oh! You mean like a tube top? Cool! Does it come in plus size?” My voice was dripping with as much saccharine as hers dripped glaciers.

I could hear my best friend losing the battle to stifle a laugh from in front of the cashier as she was well aware that I already knew what it was when I picked the damned thing up. The sales girl however, looked like she wanted to club me. I picked up another eye patch that had star-shaped crystals along the band connecting the material at the waist. Can you say ouch?
“Does this blue eye patch scratch?”
My best friend mercifully, for the sales girl anyway, grabbed me by the arm and snatched me out of there. Hey, I did say I was bored, didn’t I?

You know, I just realized I never did get the answer to that scratch question…

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Slice of Life Weekly Story Challenge

Thanks for nothing, Disney & Barney’s

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First Disney and MAC Cosmetics pulled out the cyber liposuction on Disney’s Ursula character for their Venomous Villains line in the spring earlier this year. Now with the help of Barney’s, Disney is out to ruin more childhood memories by transforming their classic icons Mickey, Mini, Daisy and Goofy into modern-day runway models…

Women’s Wear Daily: http://wwd2.wwd.com/eye/design/cartoon-capers-barneys-new-york-the-walt-disney-co-team-up-for-holidays-6202984

They say it’s a team-up, I say it’s just another subconscious gang-up on the psyches of girls and women. Another under the table way of saying taller and skinnier is better. It’s one thing to make Mickey, Minnie and Daisy slimmer. That is annoying enough in it’s own right, but not surprising in this current social climate of the slender body image. What is the deal with making them several inches taller to boot?

If even fictional characters must redesign their bodies to fit some designer’s clothing, what chance do most of us poor humans have of such? Because heaven forbid, those same designers actually design the clothes to fit their bodies, let alone ours.

Come the hell on it’s Mickey, Minnie Goofy and Daisy for Pete’s sake! Changing Ursula was bad enough, she was a secondary character, but this? This is just insane. Do you know why they are iconic characters? Their basic look does not change – that is what makes them icons.

“The standard Minnie Mouse will not look so good in a Lanvin dress.” explains Barneys’ creative director, Dennis Freedman. I call bullshit on that. Did Lanvin and company even try to design for the character’s bodies as they are? We know it can be done in two words: Miss Piggy.

A hot commodity in haute couture, her “weight” may go up and down, but Miss Piggy is always fierce, fabulous and unapologetically fat.   Proof is in the porker that designing for iconic fictional characters, without changing that which makes them iconic,  can be done with something Lanvin and company obviously do not have – imagination.

What’s next? Tommy Hilfiger and Ralph Lauren designing pants for Pooh Bear? Barney’s, but especially Disney should be ashamed of themselves. Children’s characters should not be yet another mirror of some unattainable ideal for adults. Children’s characters should be remain just that children’s characters.

Where’s Tippi Hedren When You Need Her?

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As a New Yorker, and I’m sure this holds for most urban dwellers, we take the sightings of the local fauna of squirrels and pigeons that manage to make the minuscule patches of green dotting the vast urban jungle landscape home in stride. It is a tenuous relationship at best. They cannot get rid of us and we cannot get rid of them. The childhood penchant for chasing and on rare catching pigeons is their burden to bear. Walking down the street knowing there are constant invisible concentric circles above our heads and it is a veritable hit or miss crapshoot every time we deign to step outside the door, is ours. These are hazards where both sides of the genus gap take loses as a survival of the fittest raw deal. Still, for the most part there has existed an unspoken, yet generally binding mutual agreement once we humans reach puberty that if we stay out of their way, they will stay out of ours.

The key words being for the most part…

I pretty much walk the same path to the train each morning for work. I have an early schedule, so I may see only a handful of people on the streets before I reach the station. Therefore, certain portions of my path can have a gathering of avian. If there are less than ten birds together, I may give a modicum of space to their gathering and not disturb them. This morning, what looked like a platoon of them had gathered, enough that it would have given Alfred Hitchcock pause. There was no going around them. I had no choice but to stake my claim as the higher species. They were going to get out of my way this time, dammit!

I was fully prepared to plow right through them and they must have sensed it as a sizable amount took to flight. I was counting on this, thus I was not surprised by their sudden take off. Nor did the two or three stalwarts who were not leaving their breadcrumbs for anything surprise me. Hard cases exist in all species and I get it. What got me was this one pigeon crossing my path instead of the other way around. Dude was determined he was going thataway and not even this human was deterring him from his chosen path. I actually had to stop short, nearly stumbling, to keep from accidentally punting the flying frack to the tracks of the elevated train platform some fifty yards ahead. I stood there with my arms partially open in a dude seriously? pose. The damned thing had to nerve to cock its head at me in a whaat? stance as it kept going.

“Damn, he could have at least said excuse me.” Was the laughing commentary from a guy who was standing outside and witnessed the whole exchange.

My opinion exactly; the nerve! Apparently this hard case didn’t get the higher species memo.

The Raivenne-0 / The Pigeon-1

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Slice of Life Story Challenge

Slice of Life Story Challenge

Still Pissed…

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Yes, this is an Akin rant, because I am still pissed….

Is there is a dearth of viable children available for adoption via the usual ways as is, that we have to use legislature to replenish the stock?

The moral majority has the right to have their opinion on who, what, when, where, why and how and for that matter how many we choose to use our vaginas. After all, it is just opinion, and like assholes, almost everyone has one and it has little bearing on how we lead our sexual lives except where we choose to let it. As the kids say “YMMV”, but I personally do not give a fuck.  Actually, that is not true, I do give and receive fucks – not as any wear near as much as I’d like, because I do have standards after all, but I digress…

The moral majority however does not have the right to legislate what we, as a legal adult females of sound minds and bodies, will allow in or out of our vaginas voluntarily (the harm to animals big and small not withstanding – because I know some idiot reading this is going to think it).  They damn sure should not get to lay down the law on all females simply because it goes against the moral/religious stance of some. Attempting to define what is considered “rape” and then what to do with any potential pregnancies that may result from it, by people –the majority of whom are male and one of whom, who apparently did not pay attention in sex-ed and does not know shit about basic reproductive biology- has galled me to no end, especially this week.

Forcible rape. Date rape. Statutory rape. Guess what they all have in common?

They are all still RAPE.

This is punishing the victim on a grand scale. We all know for all the rapes reported, there are so many more that are not. Therefore, the responsibilities any pregnancies resulting from such -for those females who do not have these mysterious magic vaginas that shuts down and blocks insemination when being raped as Akin stated- are solely on the female. I know there are states that will uphold rapists’ rights to fight for custody of their children should they be so inclined (which is whole other level of punishing the victim), but is there a law that mandates all convicted rapists who father children must take full responsibility of them whether they want to or not?-No.  However, whatever spawn is planted in our wombs we may soon be ordered to give birth to whether we want to or not.

If the woman is not crying bloody murder about the event, she asked for it? Tell that to the woman in an abusive relationship that hasn’t found the courage to leave yet.  Maybe the college girl hanging out with someone she thought was a friend and is slipped some GHB in her soda will be okay with it, but I doubt it. Does anyone remember back in the late 80’-early 90’s when women were taught to not fight, but just lay there and take it because they were more likely to live through it? Tell that to the women who heeded such advice. Perhaps the 10-year-old girl taken advantage of by a male family member who was too scared to say “no” that she (and let us be honest her mother also), must keep the lovely memento left behind as a reminder for the rest of their lives?

And really, even if the female (or mother of the female), CHOOSES to keep the child due to her own personal reasons, would she want the father to be in the life of the child?

And just for the sake of devil advocacy – let us take rape out of the picture altogether.

I am a middle-aged peri-menopausal woman who already has two adult children and damn sure does not want any more. How much do you want to wager -should I find out the condom broke- just how ecstatic I will be to learn that I just re-upped for a minimum 9 month, but potentially another 18-24 year gig due to government decree. I love my sons, but I have raised them and they are living their own lives now. Raising children to adulthood is work and my job is done. I have officially entered consulting mode for which there is no chance of being let go from my services and I like it that way. I am not starting over, nor am I putting the child up for someone else.  I am saying it right here in print – if it becomes national law and I would have to give birth to said child – there will be a “vacation” to another country in my immediate future and I guaran-fucking-tee you I will not be the only one.

As I will be out of the childbearing game soon enough, this really isn’t about me any more.  It is for all the other females of this age on whom such legislature will affect.

Most of the ones attempting to control our wombs and lives through such laws were not around, or old enough to really remember life before Roe v. Wade.  To them and to the ones who think I’m blowing it out of proportion and need to let it go, I’m telling you, if we don’t wake up and continue to fight to keep these from becoming laws, we’re all going to be pretending we do not know about the many uses of wire hangers again within a few short years.

This was my Facebook status Monday morning:

Verbal Diarrhea Diaries (regarding the ongoing trend to legislate the female body below the belt): I am a grown ass woman, the only persons who have any “legitimate” say about what is allowed to come out of my vagina are my gynecologist whose job is to check it out and the lucky ones I voluntarily allow in.  All else need to Shut. The. Fuck. Up.

I feel as though I have spent the past few years explaining/defending/exercising my right to control my own vagina so many fucking times, I’ve had it up to here *levels palm just above pubic area*

Or as my girl ‘Monds likes to say ‘Iz ded”.

It’s Thursday and I am still pissed…

Beautiful Monster – Sorta

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http://www.xojane.com/fun/disney-villians-beauty-line-ursula

In a nutshell: Disney has a new beauty line of cosmetics with MAC Cosmetics called Venomous Villains, featuring make-up inspired by classic Disney female villains such a Cruella De Vil (101 Dalmatians) and Maleficient (Sleeping Beauty). My rant is what they’ve done to my favorite of the female villains, Ursula the Sea Witch (The Little Mermaid).

Disney's Ursula

In some sick stroke of insipid marketing they gave my girl some serious celluloid liposuction just so she can shell out sea shell eye shadow?  C’mon Disney – really? Really!?!

Ursula was a mature ass.
Ursula was a glam ass.
Ursula was a bad ass.
Ursula was a fat ass.

Ursula was a mature, glam, fat ass and an unapologetic bad-ass vamp to boot! Don’t believe/remember that? Check this thick chick out here…

Tell me this does not scream “I’m sexy and I know it!”

Above is the Ursula millions of little girls (and the women who had to sit through the movie with them), loved to loath to love. Not this…

Disney's skinny UrsulaSeriously, who is this female?

Had I seen this image out of context it likely would have taken me a full fifteen seconds to get that she is supposed to be Ursula.

So what is Disney is trying to say? That you’re only allowed to be a bad-ass and glam these days if you’re young and slim? This reboot is a slap in the face of all of us mature, bad-ass glamorous women, especially those of us who just happen to be fat.

The real ugliness of this is, had they left Ursula drawn as originally intended almost no one would have batted a false, rhinestone eyelash at her glam fatness. By changing her they’ve made a non-issue into one. If Ursula is worthy of being included in the Venomous Villains Beauty Line (and she damn sure is), then she should be worthy as originally drawn; not re-drawn and quartered.

and yet…

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It’s summer in the City. One of the many gazillion things to look forward to is the free concerts that occur throughout various venues. From early June to early August the open common area in front of my office building is one of them. Every summer the company that hosts the festival trots out various Rhythm & Blues and/or neo funk and/or (fill in the blank) near has-beens to potential gonna-bes for our perusal and hopeful lunchtime entertainment. Yes, lunchtime. I am sure several of you reading this not so jokingly just asked what’s that?

I have no idea; I ask the same question.  By the time one gathers lunch and gets downstairs to enjoy the music all the good seating is taken up by those who have staked their claim for a least an hour before the event start time. Most attendees for these events either stand for however many minutes they have remaining before returning to their duties or find a seat where all you can do is listen because you surely can’t see anything.

Don’t let my sarcasm fool you.  I have spent my time standing around nodding to some old school or new jack beat when the performing artist was someone of interest to me so, it actually is a very pleasant way to spend one’s truncated time. Ah, but I digress…

All of the above was to get to this…

I run into a colleague a few yards from my building as I am returning to work after running errands during lunch.  (Hey, I told you I had no idea what it was, didn’t I?) The conversation went as such:

C: Hey there, I know you’re out here enjoying your music!
Me: Actually no.
C: Why not? Isn’t this your type of music?
Me: My type of music?
C: Yeah.
Me: Why would you think this would be my type of music?
C: Because…
Me: Because that is just as fucked-up as someone only expecting to hear Dean Martin crooning Volare or That’s Amore in an Italian restaurant and because that’s your type of music?

And that ladies and gents would be about the moment her brains opened and her mouth closed. Either that or the single arched eyebrow that I know appears when I’m faced with the completely ignorant chose to make itself known.  It was pleasant watching her squirm for a moment before I walked away.

So close and yet damn far…

This Night

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My lips curve in my most seductive smile
I’m humming a self-made tune for a while
Crowned dominant by day, but this night I switch
Renewal of a role-play to scratch a different itch
No, this time I don’t command, I only obey
And I enjoy immensely, this role I play

Suspended cuffs at my wrists just a little tight
Gleaming in glare of the camera light
Painted on latex is my only form of dress
And it’s peeled with delighted foolishness
I’m wanton in this peeling and if you think jest
It’s not the cold that peaks me to that I can attest

This night is mine, and it’s only just begun
To redefine the meaning of having fun

This is my desire, being chained and seen
By those with the tastes and the mean
To explore the uniqueness I offer them
Surrounded by all the tools of my BDSM
Like the tense chains holding me in thrall
Upon the spreader bars exposing all

Except for the mask covering most of my face
Only my scarlet lips left in the open space
For the gear covers my ears and my hair
A way to see me, yet ignore I’m there
Even my eyes are covered, I’m denied sight
I’m just a nameless, faceless fuck tonight

This night is mine, all inhibitions strewn
I’m living on the dark side of the moon

My Master’s voice calls out loud to the voyeurs
“She’s your toy ladies and gents – go enjoy her”
It wasn’t in the script, but I’m happy to comply
Feeling the first brave soul pinch me hard inside my thigh
“That’s all you’ve got?” I ask with a mocking pout
Laughter follows, they’re amateurs I have no doubt

But I should have known better than to speak
A mirth removing slap reminding to play meek
Stroking, pinching, hair pulling and bites
Each squeeze is one more unimaginable delight
Soon it’s a blend of sensations all over me
One into another in a sexual cacophony

This night is mine, and no one hesitates
I’m a bell to be rung, they hear me resonate

The endorphins pump in doing their trick
The pain to pleasure ratio getting an extra kick
I enjoy its feel; the sting brings such pleasure,
I enjoy pain in ways others cannot measure
I respond to its voice, the flogger’s sweet song
Both supple and fluid yet biting and strong

Leather against my skin, all is just right
I can tell my “Master” is enjoying my plight
He taunts – teases drawing it across me slow
Or swings wildly in maddening staccato
And he knows me well, reads me like a story
Giving me all but stopping just shy of glory

This night is mine and I know it’s almost the final act
His gentle tug on swollen lips confirms that fact

But as an I act, I milk it for all its worth
Of visual stimuli there is no dearth
Yes, I’m a shock to those newly initiated
But no denying hours later that I’m satiated
And with his only kiss as cool as you all please
Brings me the glory that finally weakens my knees

“And so it must end!” he yells to all
My head snaps back at the sudden call
There is no acting the surprise on my face
At the reality of what was next to take place
The unwritten final act – he removes the blindfold
And the sad look in his eyes is the last thing I behold

This night was mine, to be set fully free
A gun to my head makes a snuff film of me

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Thursday Poets Rally Week 67 (May 3-9, 2012)

in public passing

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I reference Whitney Houston in the following as she has become the latest occurrence of that which has garnered my ire, but I mean this in deference for all troubled celebrities who pass…

Does any one remember “don’t speak ill of the dead”?

I don’t understand this vitriol that occurs whenever a fallen celebrity dies. I concede my interest in Whitney Houston of late began and ended within the length of whichever song of hers popped up on my iPod. I enjoy the beauty of her voice for however long I may (or may not) have the song on replay until I move on. She was a talented singer and that we my never her anything new from her again is a loss for those who enjoyed her singing.

Those of us that don’t find the humor of such disrespect (especially within minutes of the announcements of the person passing) and dare call the critics to task don’t know how to take a joke or are taking things too seriously. No I, like millions of other Houston fans, did not scour the Internet each day for all news Whitney. That did not make us any less of her fans or make her passing any less meaningful to us in our own little ways. The disrespect of the dead is bad enough and some also choose to also belittle the living who want to take a moment to offer their respects even if it’s only something as simple as a single line Facebook status.

Did she take a superstar career and blow it all to smithereens? Yes, no one denies that. Ninety-point-whatever of us in this world get to fuck-up in relative private and will never have our laundry out but to a select few. In this world of information overload, most celebrities don’t have that luxury and intentionally or not, Houston’s laundry was there for all to gander. Eventually, even she owned up to her mistakes. Yet, because she (and other celebrities) don’t get a chance to “redeem themselves” in the public eye, it justifies the internet critics carte blanche to spout whatever snarky bullshit they feel like in the guise of being funny. Why? Just because the dead and their grieving family will likely never read it, does not make it any less hurtful. It is not gallows humor, it is just mean. So no, I do not feel compelled to pat such behavior on the back.

Just remember whether you (the critics), become famous, infamous or not, some day you will die and someone is going to talk about you.

Let he who is without / cast…