Carson's Condition Appears Stable, Say Doctors

"He's Going To Remain Dead For The Forseeable Future."

Doc Severinsen was on the Today show this morning giving a live update from California on Johnny Carson's condition, which has remained stable as "deceased" since his death on Sunday. Television viewers around the nation continue to mourn by watching more television, and old celebrities that you thought had died long ago have been appearing, by phone, by fax, and occasionally in decrepit personage on Larry King in order to cling to the sad, desperate belief that they are still relevant.

"This has really helped me forget about the tsunami and Iraq," said television viewer and meat lover Melba Beasaton. "1.4 people die in Iraq evey day, but really, did those soldiers retire from their television careers with quiet grace, secretly feeding David Letterman jokes for his monologue? Probably not. Are you going to eat that pickle?"

In other news, DKNY has told me about an American Idol contestant, Mary Roach, who is said to be the next William Hung. Both of us missed the show itself, though, and so all we've seen is the before-and-after clip from the official website. Fox is apparently holding on to the actual singing clip like a whore clutching her last tiny shred of self-esteem. Bitches. I've heard it's dreadful, though, so I'm eagerly hoping it will pop up somewhere.

Mary Roach came up because she was apparently visiting a certain friend of DKNY's, in He Who Shall Not Be Named's studio yesterday, where she was already in the process of being made over into the next William Hung. (He Who Shall Not Be Named has the power to do that sort of thing, though sometimes he does it by having his little elves do it for him, like Santa Claus or Martha Stewart, and then taking all the credit. This appears to be one of those times.)

Now, I can't tell you who He Who Shall Not Be Named actually is, but let's just say he's got some recording equipment and he has, in the past, made even Madonna sound good, so hopes are high for Mary, though they are probably higher than they should be.

DKNY also advised that a quick search for "pepper balls" will yield the sexy protesting nipples of an angry liberal who was pelted with pepper balls while at the inauguration, or something like that, but all I managed to come up with was this photo of a shirtless juggler playing with his balls in Palestine, so I don't know what the hell he was talking about.

I forgot to mention what I did over the weekend, and it was this: I went to a birthday brunch on Saturday, which was great fun. Brunch is the most important meal of the week, don't you know, and they were serving shirred eggs, so it was a great victory for me.

At the party several people said I look thinner each time they see me, which was a little odd because one of the people saying that had seen me just the week earlier. I'm afraid the Karen Carpenter fantasy that I've been cultivating might turn into a Karen Carpenter reality in all the wrong ways - I mean, I want the part where I'm the crystal-voiced vocalist for a pop duo who wears extremely flattering wide-leg pants and just a hint of lip gloss and who reminds people that they once told me they loved me, but not the part with the distended stomach and the heart failure.

Hmm - I went to go look up Karen's autopsy report, because I seem to recall reading it on the Smoking Gun and it's not there any more. There was a very memorable description about how her stomach was distended from all the bulimia, and all they found in her digestive tract was partially digested green vegetable matter, which it turns out was a Caesar salad. I know that little nugget of wisdom because in my autopsy report search I found the website of this woman, who tells about going to Karen's house after her death, ringing the doorbell (!) and then stealing a rock from her yard. And you thought I was a crazy stalker? Geesh, lady! Have some respect for the dead! I don't!

You know, Johnny Carson's widow had better watch out if he has a lot of fans like that chick - she could easily be killed if all of Johnny's fans, the nutjob ones at least, stop by their house, ring the doorbell, and then rip a small bit of her flesh out to take take home as a souvenir.

But then, I suppose it's understandable- there just aren't a lot of cultural institutions in Los Angeles, due to the lack of culture, so there's not much to do when you visit except steal things from celebrities, star in amateur porn, or steal amateur porn from celebrities.

It's a vicious cycle, and occasionally also a viscous one.

That is all.