OK, I’m struggling to figure this one out… Ronald Reagan dies at the age of 93, leaving behind an undoubtedly long and eventful life, and people everywhere are suddenly praising his memory as if he were eligible for sainthood. In fact, the only person who isn’t ejaculating over Ronald Reagan is Jennifer Lopez. Why? ‘Cause he had the gall to die the same day she got married, thereby stealing her headlines. Seriously, how dare he croak on her wedding day? But I digress…

Look, nothing against the man, I’m sure he was a pleasant fella and all that, but c’mon, let us not sugarcoat the obvious, people.

Reagan was a B-level actor in Hollywood, and comparatively a B-level politician as well. He fell ass-backwards into the presidency and just happened to be in the right place at the right time. The world at that time was going through a period of massive change, and Reagan just happened to latch onto the most powerful position in the world and an opportune time.

We all know that his contributions were minimal at best. At the end of the day, no matter how many of these post mortem brownnosers gush, Reagan will still be remembered most for selling weapons to our enemies. Period.

Just the other day I heard some fuckknuckle radio commentator going on about how Reagan ran for office in four different elections, and one them all. The guy chalked it up to his charisma.

Hey, dipstick, he was an actor. It was his job to be charismatic, to be able to draw people’s attention and make them like him. That’s what he did for a living, that’s what he trained for the better part of his life up to that point. This might also account for Arnold Schwarzenegger, Jesse Ventura, even Sonny Bono. They’re all entertainers, of course they have to lay claim to a certain degree of charisma. Sakes.

Anyway, what am I getting at? Well, this isn’t anti-Republican sentiment in any way shape or form, so you can dispel that notion immediately. What I’m getting at is the fact that it just irritates me that when somebody famous dies, it takes about a third of a millisecond for every so-called “colleague” (translation: a person who met the deceased at a cocktail party once) to come out of the woodwork and gush over the poor sonuvabitch in the oak box.

Yeah, that’s really what’s gettin’ me right now.

I am fairly certain that O.J. Simpson could kick the bucket tomorrow, and a whole slew of closet “Juicers” would come out in public and praise his amazing football career, his Heisman trophy, and his amazing portrayal of Nordberg in the Naked Gun series.

By that same token, I’m fairly certain that only a handful if any would make mention the double homicide he stood trial for. And by the way, if you still think he didn’t do it, just walk into a piranha-filled kiddy pool this very instant. Please, just do yourself a favor.

Just once, I would like to see someone give an honest eulogy. Wouldn’t that be great? A little bit of honesty, just once!

”Edgar was a quiet man. I say that because he had his tongue ripped out in a quibble over a gambling debt. That’s what he got for dealing with La Cosa Nostra. He never could get his gambling under control. That’s why his first son isn’t here with us today. Not because he is appalled by his father’s vices, but because Edgar lost him in a Super Bowl bet. He never should’ve rooted for the Bills. But despite his shortcomings, Edgar really did love his wife with all his heart… at least that’s what he told me one night after performing oral sex on me. Oh yeah. Edgar smoked pole. You didn’t know? He graduated from CSU, Cocksucker University. He had a 4.0 GPA; no gag reflex. That man could suck a watermelon through a drinking straw. Before his tongue was cut out of his mouth, anyway. He never did reconcile with those mobsters, which is probably why he was castrated just before being tossed into that thresher. At least that’s what the authorities say. They also say he shouldn’t have been high on PCP while driving the don’s daughter home from the club. It’s quite probable that he shouldn’t have gotten wet before getting behind the wheel, ‘cause if he stayed clean, he might still be here today to sodomize livestock with the rest of us. But at the end of the day, we should not be too sad for him, because I know that he is in a better place right now. He is at peace, and has been reunited with his tongue. And if he’s lucky, he just might be able to use that tongue to tickle St. Peter’s grundle in hopes of actually making it through the Pearly Gates. Edgar, we hardly knew ye, and we’ll miss ya at the methadone clinic.”

Man, I wish people were that honest about the deceased. And I guarandamntee ya if they were, Sinatra’s funeral wouldn’t have been so somber.

Goodnight, and have a pleasant tomorrow.