DeadAir
2012:
DeadAir
2001's
Triumphant
yet
Dignified
Return

Aloha!
You
may
remember
us,
if
you
skulked
around
these
digital
alleys
back
in
your
salad
days--say
2000,
early
2001.
Maybe
you
were
looking
for
some
Bryant
Gumbel
to
knock
around,
to
kick
a
little
sand
in
Calista
Flockhart's
skinny
face,
or
perhaps
you
typed
"dr
laura
naked"
into
AltaVista
or
Web
Crawler,
and
there
we
were.
We
were
younger
then;
angrier--angry
at
the
power-drunk
politicians
who'd
impeach
a
President
for
getting
a
humjob
from
a
chubby
intern
despite
their
own
repeated
Red
Roof
Inn
trysts
with
their
appointments
secretaries;
at
celebrities
making
money
wearing
those
same
stupid
suspenders
and
smashing
those
same
damned
watermelons
year
after
year
after
year,
while
far
smarter
icons
like
Bill
Hicks
and
Frank
Zappa
not
only
wither
commercially
but
die
decades
before
their
time;
at
transplanted
Texas
scions
of
Texas-by-way-of-Connecticut
bluebloods
who
not
only
probably
couldn't
spell
"President"
but
definitely
had
no
business
running
for
it.
And
it
wasn't
just
celebrities
who
sparked
our
ire.
There
were
our
bosses
who
would
sell
us
out
for
a
case
of
Glenlivet;
our
exes
who
got
freaky
with
our
best
friends
and
plundered
our
bank
accounts
and
CD
collections
on
their
way
out
of
our
lives;
the
surgeons
who
accidentally
sewed
us
up
with
a
6"
pylorus
clamp
hiding
beneath
a
section
of
large
intestine.
In
a
nutshell,
in
this
great
big
world
there
were
unpunished
offenders
in
our
path
everywhere
we
turned.
Wouldn't
it
be
nice
if
we
could
make
all
of
them
could
show
up
together
on
one
doomed
plane
flight?
So
we
did.
And
the
response
was
overwhelming,
with
so
many
of
you,
in
spite
of
what
you
thought
were
your
better
angels,
nominating
celebrities,
professional
athletes,
co-workers,
television
anchors
and
more
for
our
glorious
aeronautic
cataclysm.
But
then
9/11
happened.
We
were
as
appropriately
affected
as
most
everyone
else,
and
for
the
moment
it
suddenly
just
wasn't
cool
to
wonder
out
loud,
"Boy,
why
couldn't
<blank>
die
in
a
fiery
plane
crash?"
Time
marches
on,
though.
That
was
four
years
ago.
So
many
people
have,
through
the
healing
process,
rediscovered
their
inner
asshole,
and
along
the
serpentine
path
our
lives
have
taken
since
then
we've
found
those
people,
and
so
many
new
candidates
worthy
of
inclusion
on
our
Doomed
Fantasy
Super
Plane.
It
was
time
for
DeadAir
to
fly
again.
Granted,
we've
had
to
make
some
changes
to
our
original
Manifest.
Johnnie
Cochran
and
Ronald
Reagan
are
gone,
naturally;
no
one
can
really
hate
Bob
Saget
after
his
hilarious
junk-snorting,
philandering
turns
on
"Huff"
and
"Entourage".
Tom
Cruise
has
earned
Brooke
Shields'
old
seat;
David
Lee
Roth
shouldn't
have
been
on
there
in
the
first
place;
and
only
24
people
even
remember
who
Kennedy
was
(but
she's
staying
on
anyway).
That
aside,
the
rules
are
the
same:
Who
would
make
this
planet
a
better
place
by
perishing
in
an
unspeakably-horrific
air
tragedy?
You
make
the
call!
It's
as
easy
as
submitting
your
own
nominee.
It's
all
benign
make-believe,
and
it's
surprisingly
cathartic.
And
it's
more
effective
on
the
psyche
than
doing
something
real
and
borderline-creepy
like
sending
them
angry
letters
scrawled
in
Magic
Marker
or
berating
them
in
public
if
you
just
happen
to
see
them
at
Starbucks
and
running
out
to
the
parking
lot
and
spray-painting,
"YOU'RE
GUILTY
OJ
!!!"
on
their
car.
And
best
of
all,
it's
fun!
So
come
on
in... |