I was standing in the grocery store line and read a write up on his death in "People." My wife talked about how kinda sad it was, him dying so young and under such tragic circumstances.
Bullshit, says I, now that I've had some time to reflect on this. The guy went out hardcore; it wasn't some half-assed accident on the highway, and he wasn't incapacitated by the debilitating effects of old age. He took a stingray's barb in the motherfucking heart. When I first heard about his death, it made me think of that epitaph on Royal Tenenbaum's tombstone (I had to look it up for this entry):
How boss is that; "Tackled a fucking stingray and died." Not, "Died a slow, painful death, unable to remember his children's names & having to urinate only through the assistance of nursing professionals." Everyone may say he had it coming. Well, you know, yeah he did. And he did his thing anyway.
I ain't one for overeulogizing the death of celebrities, unless it's one that affected me personally. But you know, that Crocodile Hunter? That was one entertaining sumbitch, who went out with no apologies for what he did for a living. Life, man. Crikey, ain't she a beaut?!
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