It was my grandmother who first said it, and, as with most things you can’t explain, my grandmother was right: deaths always come in threes. (Not deaths in general around the world, although they come in three’s too, but more like “three every two seconds.” I’m talking about deaths that either personally affect you or are somehow foisted upon your social consciousness.)
It’s been proven in the past. I’ve researched this (I hope no one in my office goes through my Google search cache right now and sees “celebrity deaths” “death calendar” and “dates of famous death”):
- Ronald Regan, Ray Charles, Ralph Wiley (great sportswriter who died suddenly and way before his time)
- Warren Zevon, John Ritter, Johnny Cash
- Elliot Smith, Rod Rodney, Art Carney
- Rodney Dangerfield, Yassar Arafat, Ol’ Dirty Bastard (My favorite trio, which, when Arafat hijacked the news for weeks, led to a barrage of emails between me and my friends including such classics as:
“When did Yassar Arafat become Ringo Star?”
“I know - is the rest of the world even aware that RODNEY DANGERFIELD died recently? RODNEY DANGERFIELD!!!”
“Yeah but Rodney never got any respect. One time he was kidnapped and they sent a piece of his finger to his father. His father said he wanted more proof.”
John Edward was here this morning, and I don’t know if you guys believe in those kinds of things, but he's unbelievable. It gives you a whole new outlook on supernatural and all that...and it’s funny because just yesterday I had some thoughts about death and how when you die, you die . . . that’s it . . . but this guy makes you think otherwise. Really unbelievable . . . He just reads other people . . . what a freaking gift.
The best is that the whole time I was reading that I thought you said "John Edwards" is here today. And I was excited that you thought so highly of him politically in a weird supernatural way.
I knew I had something else to say this morning . . . the Rodney Dangerfield thing. How wild is that? The other night we JUST mentioned how he was alive after Marissa swore he was dead. Maybe she knew something we didn’t? Maybe her real last name is Marissa Edward?
Yeah, Marissa and I were surfing the net together last night and we saw that Rodney had died. Apparently my girlfriend is prophetic? She must be because when I asked her if I was getting lucky later on that night she said I wasn't. And, in fact, I didn't.
Does "surfing the net together" translate as "downloading porn all night"? Cause sometimes me and Jess watch TV really really late at night on Cinemax.
“I saw on the segment "in the headlines" on NY1 the other day, Page 6 ran a column that called out the times for not sticking to their policy of referring to people as "Mr." or "Ms." in their paper when they ran the story on the death of Ol’ Dirty Bastard. In the times they called him "Old Dirty Bastard" instead of calling him "Mr. Bastard." Hilarious.”
All of which is why I’m worried now that Peter Jennings died yesterday, and John Johnson (not my tall friend John Johnson, who is alive and well, except for being in Chicago; but the founder of Ebony magazine John Johnson) died today. That’s two. I’m afraid to see who is next. (It was almost Marc Cohen, who survived a gunshot wound to the head in an attempted robbery over the weekend. But no – fate had it in mind that Marc Cohn’s work wasn’t done here yet, regardless of the fact that, quite literally, his “work” has been done since 1991.)
In any event, we’re officially on death watch to see who goes down next.