Macaulay Culkin’s Facebook Death is ‘Alive and Well.’

http://en.mediamass.net/people/macaulay-culkin/deathhoax.html

 

Macaulay Culkin is only the latest celeb to fall victim to a plague-like death that spread quickly earlier this week causing concern about the veracity of fake celebrity death reports. Macaulay Culkin is only the most recent in a long line of celebrity deaths that include the likes of Danny Bonaduce, Artie Lange, Lindsay Lohan, Mickey Rourke, Gary Busey and Britney Spears.

Conflicting reports of the death of actor Macaulay Culkin has spread in the wake of death reports emerging about other celebrities that apparently risen from the dead according to the April 2016 report. A government official confirmed that the string of celebrity deaths may be the result of a new strain of the influenza virus that seems to act like zombie outbreak.

The official urged the public at large not to fear because this virus only seems to be targeted at minor celebrities in the twilight of failed careers.  The official also stated that Macaulay Culkin is not dead in the strictest sense and many passing fans have been victimized by this walking corpse. If you see him or any other celebrities before the government has time to develop a vaccine, please call the proper authorities and do not approach as he or she may be very dangerous and possibly contagious.

NaPoWriMo Poem 22 Cut Up

(This poem is a Cut Up of the first page of my original short fiction “A Fishes Tale.” The short fiction can be read here: https://therichardbraxton.wordpress.com/2016/01/20/a-fishs-tale/ )

 

Over the keychain of his trusty bottle opener

In the blowing in off the lapping waves

Of lake water in his mid-twenties,

He was drinking a Rusty Nail

Since he had grown up and got a job

(And Drambuie on the rocks

Was the height of sophistication).

 

Drinking a beer

In the shower,

At least once,

A two piece Miller Light bikini

Walked into the bar.

 

Scalding heat of the shower

Was a mini vacation,

But she was half naked.

She stopped at his table

And new kids, new job,

And the new mortgage,

That of the guys before

Moving to the next table.

 

The vacation away from responsibilities.

But he, barely of the bottle opener,

But when he heard

The hiss of debauchery that

Everyone thought was adult life.

 

Smell the slight hint of perspiration

Over her cold lake side of wild,

Southern California, while

He forgot about the cold

And the light spray of the mist.

 

More remembering:

He was fully reliving.

His, Rob’s keys jingled as the fumbled:

His fingers and a family of his own.

Rob had made a point

Of predawn chill.

 

He was given the bottle opener month.

The ice cold beer contrasted

Against the near at the Irish Pub

(He thought that Scotch and on),

In the midst of settling

Into a new life, new wife.

 

While waiting his turn for karaoke.

A girl, in a precluded the ability…

To take a real extended…

She wasn’t the hottest girl he had seen there.

Barely remembered his college days.

And they talked a little and handed out

Keychains to each life.

 

But this cold beer

In the cold morning

Out in the Miller Light,

Lettering has long since worn off

While he fished for his own dinner.

This was it.

 

No, that morning’s first beer.

Popping open, he could glory days.

Cheap floral body spray.

And for a second he forgot.