I hope I’m around to read Michael Moore’s obituary someday.
This guy is accumulating so much bad karma that I have to think he’s going to go at a relatively young age and go in some bizarre fashion.
I’m usually right about these things. Hunter S. Thompson’s suicide didn’t surprise me one bit. He had a huge gift for words, but you just knew he was going to squander it in the end.
Thompson at least wrote some interesting books, not that I would defend his politics or his morals. But he had the saving grace of being an entertaining scoundrel.
Moore, on the other hand, is a bore, a windbag, and a generally insufferable piece of self-promoting human refuse.
So until his actual demise, it’s tempting to speculate about Moore being found at room temperature in a public lavatory ... under compromising circumstances.
Not just read the obituary. Travel to the right place and micturate on his grave.
He should choke to death on a bologna sandwich.