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Bettie Page Dies

Brock Keeling — Fri, 12 Dec 2008 09:33:40 GMT

Zaftig girl icon Bettie Page died last night at a Los Angeles hospital. She was 85. Page -- whose brunette hair, sharply cut bangs and bondage photos continues to capture the imagination of both males and females -- died after suffering a heart attack nine days ago. Popular in the '50s, Page eschewed her life as an underground celebrity by becoming a born-again Christian and working full-time for evangelist Billy Graham's ministry. Only later in life did she reluctantly accept her icon status. Page's life turned into the biopic The Notorious Bettie Page, which, thankfully, resurrected the career of Gretchen Mol.

R.I.P., Estelle Getty

Brock Keeling — Tue, 22 Jul 2008 10:58:51 GMT

No, no, thank you for being a friend, Sophia Petrillo. Sniff, sob. Getty died at her home on Hollywood Boulevard in LA. She was 84.

(Yeah, yeah, there's no SF relation here, but most of us loved -- loved! -- The Golden Girls (especially Helikna and her Trannyshack gaggle who recently put on a stage show of the popular '80s sitcom), so we're letting you know.)

Tina Turner's Abuser/Rapist/Svengali Dies at 76

Brock Keeling — Wed, 12 Dec 2007 14:04:35 GMT

Well, holy hell. Ike Turner died today.

The rock et roll pioneer and hardcore curmudgeon died today in San Marcos, San Diego. He made a name for himself after discovering a young Tina Turner, and the rest is Academy Award-nominated history. Toward the end of his life, he was remorseful about his treatment of Tina and others. "I know what I am in my heart. And I know regardless of what I've done, good and bad, it took it all to make me what I am today." We hear you, Ike. We hear you.

The cause of his death (as of now) is unknown. Read more about it here.

RIP: Evel Knievel

Brock Keeling — Fri, 30 Nov 2007 13:55:11 GMT

The motorcycling-riding Johnny Knoxville of his time, minus any homoerotic subtext, Evel Knievel died today at the wonderful age of 69. He passed away after years of suffering from "diabetes and idiopathic pulmonary fibrosis, an incurable condition that scarred his lungs." Which? Good for him -- in that he wasn't taken down by his daredevil-laced stuntsmanship. He even survived a run-in with the Hell's Angels. (Aside: why do the Hell's Angels act like such dick slices?) Wikipedia tells us that:

On March 3, 1972 at the Cow Palace in San Francisco, Knievel got into a scuffle with a couple of Hells Angels in the audience. After making a successful jump, he tried to come to a quick stop because of a short landing area. Knievel ended up getting thrown off and run over by his motorcycle, a Harley-Davidson. Knievel ended up with a broken back and a concussion.

What's more, he signed over the rights to his life story for Jef Bek's rock opera, "Evel Knievel: the Rock Opera," which garnered decent reviews when it opened two months ago in Los Angeles. And really, once your life is interpreted via rock opera format, you're golden. Jesus H. Christ and Eva Peron? That's pretty good company.

RIP: Mr. Whipple Chastises His Final Squeezer

Brock Keeling — Mon, 19 Nov 2007 12:00:35 GMT

Born Riccardo DiGuglielmo, Wilson changed his name while working as an actor in efforts to avoid typecasting as an Italian-American. Little did he know that he would be typecast as America's favorite, um, cleanup enthusiast.

Emigrating to the U.S. from England as wee lad, he went on to star in over 500 -- 500?! -- Charmin commercials. His acting and squeeze-shunning abilities landed him a free lifetime supply of toilet paper from Procter & Gamble as well a place in American po(o)p culture. (Heh.) Sure, he played the alcoholic on several episodes of Bewitched, and did bit parts on Hogan's Heroes and The Bob Newhart Show, but in the world of TP commercial acting, he was a star.

Although the Associated Press tarnishes this man's good name by labeling him a "closeted squeezer," we refuse to believe such a thing. He was simply led astray by overzealous shoppers. And we salute you, Mr. Wilson cum Whipple. Toilet paper commercials have gotten excessively crass for us over the years. Images of cartoon bears with flecks of paper on their behinds and euphemistic blue-colored water tearing apart brands that are more fragile are much too revealing for us. Back when such things like urination and bowel movements weren't discussed, much less admitted to having as a bodily function, we had Mr. Whipple to conceal it all for us. He didn't remind us what toilet paper was used for; he let us know what it wasn't meant for: molesting. RIP, Mr. Whipple.