DeadAir 2012: Oh. The humanity.

As careful and certain as we've attempted to be in our deliberations, we're humble enough to admit that there is a very real danger of ill-advised selections.

The most effective ejudicators know when to admit their misjudgements, (or at least to accede to the wishes of a vocal majority, in the hopes that God will eventually have His way with the originally-selected bitch or bastard). Or perhaps they've redeemed themselves in some way, and deserve a second chance at life--say, if Yanni were to set fire to all of his CDs, tapes, LPs, and mini-discs live on national television, or if Celine Dion hit a piercing high note that ruptured both of Rosie O'Donnell's ear drums.

Aside from Jimmy Hoffa, practically nothing is set in cement, and we offer our "Reconsidered" section for when we need to show a proper degree of humility for our prior hasty selections. Pass the honey mustard sauce, please.


1.12.01: While we freely admit our fallibility and that we may now and then err in bequeathing our luxury air death sentences, as a rule we don't believe in the flexibility and self-improvement potential of human beings--especially those who aren't us. Every now and then, though, a doomed passenger will turn around and do something admirable, and what kind of rancid-hearted, callous pigs are we if we don't at least acknowledge their good faith effort to be givers rather than takers?

When compiling our initial manifest in August, 2000, we fell over one another vying for the honor of nominating the Mesozoic feminine-curmudgeon hag, Mr. Blackwell. .


1.12.01:What were we thinking??? We grew up on this man. If it weren't for him, canned beer, and recreational drugs, who knows what kind of gainful, prosperous, well-adjusted and successful lives we'd be forced to endure right now?

We regretted this pick almost immediately. Way back when, morning in Ronald Reagan's America, all the guys wanted to be him and all the girls wanted to do him. Sure, his ego ran amok, and he refused to show any humility as he stumbled through a dismal post-Van Halen solo career that should have shamefully portrayed him as a pathetic former ensemble player who was desperate to prove he could survive on his charisma alone without the talent that had once propped him up--the lack of which just reaffirmed the suspicion of his critics that he was all sizzle and no steak; a 90s Vegas stint that should have been an embarrassing attempt to reclaim his "Just A Gigolo"-era macho-camp throne, as painful as watching Rip Taylor on Def Comedy Jam, trying to wow a new generation of fan that he doesn't realize has long since moved past his dated brand of entertainment.

But not Dave. He rolled with the punches like a champ and the cock-of-the-walk court jester that won us over way back when we were sporting bad hair, Lawmans, and blackheads and he was cartwheeling and caterwauling his way through the turgid marijuana-alcohol fog of our teen consciousness. His demise wasn't only not a career suicide, it was , but not the end of him at all.

But his former bandmates? Alex and Michael have held on for, as one PDX DJ succinctly put it, "the longest free ride in the history of rock and roll", and Eddie has gone from guitar hero to rock-and-roll CEO, forgetting how to spell "aesthetic" much less honor one, and hiring and firing lead singers like they were Company Presidents, whenever he felt he needed a different flak shilling his long-since-arrested musical genius.


11.06.00: Nominated and strenuously lobbied for by B. Kelter, Aykroyd originally won his seat based on the suspicion that his comedic capabilities went into a box in the ground with John Belushi eighteen years ago. His abysmal cinematic track record has included dreadful turns in Nothing But Trouble, The Coneheads, Summer Rental, Spies Like Us, Dragnet, and far too many more. He was shameless in resurrecting The Blues Brothers, and Trading Places stands (Bill again) as one of the most overrated movies ever.

However, a recent viewing of his brilliant Saturday Night Live work has given his nominator pause, as have the valid protestations of fellow committee member Lori S., and the consideration of his few and far between but still outstanding roles in Grosse Pointe Blank, Neighbors, and Chaplin have made his nominator concede that he probably doesn't deserve to die a fiery death over a suburban commercial zone in Florida next summer, and it's likely enough punishment that he live a long and physically-healthy life tormented by the indelible memory of every movie he participated in, save the aforementioned three.

Virtually condemn your most-loathed celebrity, relative, or backstabbing weasel ex-friend!

Try it--it's a scream, and very cathartic!

Now Boarding DeadAir 2012...
DeadAir 2012 Manifest
DeadAir 2012 Ground Carnage
DeadAir 2012 Euthanasia Candidates
DeadAir 2012 Bookings
DeadAir 2012 Frequently Asked Questions
DeadAir 2012 Favorite Links
Contact DeadAir2012

Now Boarding Archive
Evening Flight: DeadAir2
Simply the Best - DeadAir 2012 Catering
Shit Sandwich: DeadAir 2012 Passengers Reconsidered

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