MONDAY, JUNE 22 This week of celebrity death, celebrity death, celebrity death, glorious love, and celebrity death kicks off with a story out of SeaTac, where yesterday brought a horrifying explosion of pit-bull-based mayhem. As the King County Sheriff's Office told KING 5 News, the trouble began early last evening when a 63-year-old woman was driving through a SeaTac neighborhood and spotted four kids—a 15-year-old girl and three boys, ages 11, 12, and 13—repeatedly kicking a pit bull. When the woman stopped to see if the kids needed help, she realized they weren't having trouble with the dog but allegedly trying to get it to fight, with the kids' barbarity quickly spelling trouble for the Good Samaritan. "[The girl] opened the passenger door [and] pulled me across the passenger seat by the hair," the woman told KING 5. When the woman tried to run away, the kids allegedly sicced the pit bull on her, with the dog's bites leaving puncture wounds in her hand and thigh. That's when another Good Samaritan tried to help and also got clobbered, with the 15-year-old girl allegedly head-butting, punching, and siccing the pit bull on the 41-year-old woman who'd stopped to help the 63-year-old woman. "The second victim was left with serious bite wounds to the head, face, and both arms," reports KING 5. "Deputies say her left forearm was so badly injured, the bone could be seen." All four kids were taken into custody then released to their parents. The 15-year-old girl is expected to face felony assault charges; the 2-year-old pit bull, Snaps, has been turned over to Animal Control.
TUESDAY, JUNE 23 Nothing happened today, unless you count the first celebrity death of the week, bringing to a close the earthly existence of Ed McMahon—the man whose 30-year stint as Johnny Carson's Tonight Show sidekick and supplementary career as the host of Star Search made him the Ryan Seacrest of his day (with the latter's dwarfish metrosexuality replaced by the former's portly avuncularity), until his cancer-related death at age 86. And while McMahon's time in the postmortem spotlight will be cut short by other, shinier deaths, he'll get more solo time than some expired angels we could mention.
WEDNESDAY, JUNE 24 Nothing happened today, unless you count the study released by Car and Driver that found texting while driving to be significantly more dangerous than driving drunk. Last Days is pleased to report that Washington State was the first in the nation to criminalize texting while driving, but not so pleased the crime remains a secondary offense, for which drivers are busted only if pulled over for a moving violation. In the Narnia of our minds, driving while texting is instantly punishable by death.
THURSDAY, JUNE 25 The week continues with a 21st-century day for the ages, which announced itself with the sad death of Farrah Fawcett, the television, film, and stage actress who fueled several generations of American masturbation as the most golden-haired of Charlie's Angels before dying today after a protracted fight with cancer. "After a long and brave battle, our beloved Farrah has passed away," said Fawcett's longtime partner Ryan O'Neal in a statement today. "We take comfort in the beautiful times that we shared with Farrah over the years and the knowledge that her life brought joy to so many people around the world." In a cruel twist, Fawcett's passing will enjoy only four hours of headlines before being bumped to page two by history's greatest attention hog since God. So for now, let us focus on Farrah, she of the feathered locks, benippled swimsuit, and oddly but unquestionably enduring stardom. In 2003, Last Days saw an exhibition of collaborative sculptures and photographs by Farrah Fawcett and artist Keith Edmier at the Andy Warhol Museum in Pittsburgh. It was interesting.
••Also: After a meteoric rise as a stunning underage performer who transformed into an extravagantly gifted adult artist propelled by a once-in-a-lifetime collision of brilliant songs, thrilling visuals, and a one-of-a-kind American talent firing on all cylinders with the greatest of ease to become the biggest pop star in the universe, Michael Jackson embarked on the saddest, freakiest, most ridiculous meltdown in recorded history. This decade-spanning grotesquerie commenced with Jackson's obsessive adventures in plastic surgery, peaked with once-every-10-years allegations of sexual impropriety with children, and concluded today with Jackson's death in Los Angeles, an instant international Twitter/Google/SMS storm that shaped itself into fact before our eyes. RIP, Michael Jackson.
FRIDAY, JUNE 26 The week continues with a whole new day of obsessing over the death of Michael Jackson, as defining a moment as our generation is likely to get—soaked as it is in sex, race, celebrity, artistry, legality, and the American dream gone horribly wrong. Today's question: Which story will win out—Michael Jackson as beloved musical genius with a complicated personal life or Michael Jackson as world-class freak with criminal sexual tendencies and some good songs? As it should be, the former narrative took precedence. "Thank God we're celebrating him now," said longtime Jackson friend Liza Minnelli to CBS's The Early Show. "When the autopsy comes, all hell's going to break loose." Details will appear this weekend in the UK Sun: "Harrowing leaked autopsy details show the singer was a virtual skeleton—barely eating and with only pills in his stomach at the time he died. His hips, thighs, and shoulders were riddled with needle wounds—believed to be the result of injections of narcotic painkillers, given three times a day for years." Thus we're left with a depressing new story: Michael Jackson as great American artist who fell into nonstop opiate addiction (and the amoral life of a junkie) thanks to the Demerol given to him after his hair caught fire during the filming of that 1984 Pepsi commercial. Sigh.
SATURDAY, JUNE 27 In much better news, the week continues with the glorious nuptials of two Seattle treasures: Riz Rollins, the widely beloved KEXP-and-beyond DJ whom Last Days met through our overlapping adventures at early-'90s Re-bar, and Rob Green, his longtime partner and new spouse, whom Last Days got to know back when he was the smiley guy at Broadway's Orpheum Records who displayed the type of unflappable sweetness that cannot be faked. This afternoon at the All Pilgrims Church on Broadway, the mighty Riz and Rob were married in a music-soaked ceremony before extended family and a couple hundred sobbing friends, in what was literally the most joy-filled room we've ever been in. Congratulations to the newlyweds, and confidential to the 12-year-old girl who sang "Hold Me, Thrill Me, Kiss Me": God forbid, but should anything ever happen to your entire family, we will adopt you.
SUNDAY, JUNE 28 The week ends with a big sunny gay pride Sunday in Seattle and the week's fourth and final celebrity death: Billy Mays, aka Shouty Blackbeard, the infomercial pitchman who was found dead at his home in Tampa this morning.
Dear God: Do you take requests? If so, may I suggest Carrie Prejean, Perez Hilton, and "Speidi" for next week? Send Hot Tips to firstname.lastname@example.org.