Elvis fucking Presley.
Yeah, I know, everybody loves Elvis.

WHY?!?

Okay, back when he started getting famous he was a damn good performer. But doesn't anyone remember what he gradually mutated into? He was a fucking joke before he died, a bloated assclown parody of himself that no one took seriously anymore- until he died, whereupon he became immensely talented and loved by all.

He was a fat hillbilly hick with a god complex. The only bad thing about him dying was that it took him so fucking long.

On the other hand, I have to admit that he's posthumously given me many a chuckle as I glance at the tabloids in the supermarket...
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Thu 4 Feb 2010, 19:14, 9 replies)

With very little editing....
....you could post this for Michael Jackson, too.
(Lord of Balrogs, Thu 4 Feb 2010, 19:51, closed)

I thought of that.
Amazing, isn't it, how after death these clown shoes suddenly become so fondly remembered?
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Thu 4 Feb 2010, 20:02, closed)

Wow
I never thought anybody else thought the same way I do.
(Herr Doktor Lemminge Is bored, so cheer me up!, Thu 4 Feb 2010, 20:01, closed)

Heh. I was expecting to get flamed for this.
After all, Elvis is a Genuine Beloved Icon whose memory must never be sullied. *snerk*
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Thu 4 Feb 2010, 20:04, closed)

ELVIS
sorry, i just don't see the appeal.
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Thu 4 Feb 2010, 20:15, closed)

Don't forget
he was a hero to most...
( milkybarnick is calming down Boris on, Thu 4 Feb 2010, 20:53, closed)

A hero to most what?
These people?
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Thu 4 Feb 2010, 21:00, closed)

Shit
Missed the target with that one. It's in here somewhere. Sorry...

www.youtube.com/watch?v=8PaoLy7PHwk
( milkybarnick is calming down Boris on, Thu 4 Feb 2010, 22:01, closed)

Here's something weird I once witnessed..
Just shortly after my old man left the army in the late Eighties, we moved from our comfortable, safe 'Family Quarters' to 'civvy street' - namely a crap council estate in Yorkshire, as it was near impossible to get work as an ex-army squaddie. It wasnt really a good time in our lives because, as a family (My Mum & Dad, with me in tow..) we used to spend many weekends drinking with the equally unemployed residents, usually taking turns to visit each others houses to get absolutely shitfaced on cheap cider, stolen beer from the local, or anything else that was either brewed in the cellar, or filtered from the local river (probably).

So what, completely off topic I guess, however my small tale does actually have a point, and here it is:

This housing estate that we lived in, was populated by Elvis fans, now, when I say 'populated' I mean entire STREETS of fans, one family named their first-born after the king himself, and their houses were festooned with wall hangings, tapestries and cupboards full of Elvis albums, singles and posters.

They followed this guy like a religious cult, and there was even a dedicated shop that sold Elvis shite to these people.

Strange.

It was mingling with these retards and witnessing this phenomenon that gave me the initial motivation to work my arse off, do well in college and get a job, otherwise I'd probably still be sat there, getting absolutely twatted on moonshine whilst listening to 'Blue Suede Shoes' and admiring an Elvis rug on my wood-chipped council house walls..

Long live the King, In Yorkshire.
(danniekavanagh did nothing constructive on, Fri 5 Feb 2010, 17:04, closed)