(retraction) growing pain

Okay, relentless Little Miss Smartypants Down There In Indiana, you are right. Alan Thicke is not dead. I was just making that up. Subsequent e-mailed reiterations by me that he really was dead, up to and including links to and fake webpages I may have created to substantiate my claim, news releases and that moving eulogy by Kirk Cameron, were also all just fabrications. I do this sometimes. No, I don't mean I sometimes make up things for the weblog, I mean I sometimes specifically make the completely false assertion that Alan Thicke is dead. I've been saying for years that Alan Thicke was dead, well before the blog, slipping his name mournfully in various recitals of the recently deceased. Every single time I have ever done this, Alan Thicke was actually alive.

Why Alan Thicke? Why not Alan Thicke? He's just about the right level of obscurity to be recognizable and yet one could plausibly think that he could have died without one hearing about it or with one having forgotten. Do I actually wish Alan Thicke ill, like this freakazoid does? No, because then there wouldn't be any point in saying that he is dead. The whole point is that Alan Thicke is not dead. If you want a one-sentence snapshot of me, it could as well be that I'm the sort of person who would randomly start saying one day that Alan Thicke was dead and then carry on doing so, only seldomly but with perfect consistency (always Alan Thicke, always dead), for no particular reason and with no particular mirth, for years.

Gordon Jump, on the other hand, really is dead, and, yes, I'm still dealing with that. And Buddy Ebsen. And Charles Schultz. And Red Buttons. And Johnny Cash. All dead, all unfortunately so, although not as sad as Gordon Jump. Or Soupy Sales, you know Soupy Sales was hard for me too.