Folks, there ain't nothing sadder than seeing a broken down Hollywood actor whom time passed by three decades ago, attempting to revive his career by announcing to the world that he has a disease that nobody came up with a cure for.
That's the way it is with some of these sorry suckers who should have long ago bowed out gracefully but as a junkie just cannot pass up an opportunity to get a fix.
I'm talking about the actor Charleston Heston.
Now I do not have any personal animus to Mr. Heston, and I am certainly keen on his onset of Alzheimer Disease. Having a grandfather who suffered that fate I am certainly sympathetic to anyone on this subject. I don't have a problem with a former head of state, such as President Reagan, or a family member announcing to the world that they have this or another terminal illness.
But, people this Heston thing is a whole nutter thing.
I will let Joe Pesci sum my feelings up about Mr. Heston's public announcement of his impending doom and gloom.
In the movie "My Cousin Vinny," Pesci plays an inexperienced New York lawyer who has been retained by his nephew and his friend to represent them in a murder case in Alabama for which they have mistakenly been accused of committing. The two youngsters were driving through the state when the crime was committed and were quickly indoctrinated on the southern criminal system.
Getting arrested for murder was bad enough for the New York youngsters, but getting Vinny, who had previously done a couple of injury cases, was something else entirely. But, Vinny's got moxie and he is street savvy.
Vinny is seemingly out of his elements against a polished, steely-eyed prosecutor and a most proper southern judge until opening statements to the jury.
While the prosecutor is busily and elaborately laying out the charges and evidence against the defendants Pesci catches up on some much needed sleep. Joe needed it because the Alabama justice system had been reeking havoc on his life.
Besides having spent a couple of nights in the slammer for contempt of court charges was tough on the guy.
When called on to make his opening statements he had to be awaken. Pesci staggered up to the jurors and reduced the trial to a street battle by simply stating that
"Everything that guy just said is bullshit." "Thank you."
You gotta love a person who possesses such honesty. From that moment on he systematically demolished the state's case against the two defendants just as he had predicted to his nephew in an earlier conversation about the prosecution case being an exercise in smoking mirrors.
Charleston Heston's grandstanding performance reminded me of that courtroom scene in the Pesci movie.
I was channel surfing when I came across his speech so I don't know what was said earlier. However, I did see and hear enough to persuade me that whatever his statements the middle and end were merely an extension of his bullshit session.
To point out the absurdity of his conceited and self-promotion exercise one only has to examine some things he alluded to in his commercial.
He spoke of removing himself more from the public eye as his disease progresses.
My guess is that he is of the opinion that the listeners are supposed to appreciate this gesture as his bowing out gracefully.
The fact is, only the image of his recent waving of a rifle and shouting from these cold dead hands most people would be hard pressed to name any movie this guy ever appeared in.
Incidentally, this brings up another point about that Heston's cold dead hands buffoonery. For a tired ass mother, to take on the role of spokesperson for the NRA shows that he not only is suffering from Alzheimer he has an advanced case of Rigor Mortis Of The Brain. We are talkin' bout a man who is approaching eighty years mind you.
There is something wrong with a person who at a time in their lives should be showing children how to blow bubbles and building castles in the sand. Instead, he is running around and acting as though he is a badd ass.
Part of his problem, I think, is having watched too much television and movies.
For LaPierre, or whoever the Head Mother What's In Charge of the NRA, to take a shovel and dig up a corpse to represent his outfit shows how desperate they are.
How wrong can a guy be.
Here, I thought that grave robbing was a criminal offense.
The dead are dead. They oughtta be left buried.
Instead, there he is showboating, talking shit and mentioning Dr. King and Mr. Reagan as though he is in their class.
Reagan okay but not Dr. King.
And of course, he quoted Shakespeare in his speech for whatever that is worth.
Say what you will about Heston the two things that you can never accuse him of having are class and dignity.
A more sensible way of exiting would be to take a seat on a tusk of that Republican elephant and let Dumbo carry him off into the sunset.
But like Gloria Swanson in Sunset Boulevard he is blind to the fact that except for few sorry ass white idolaters his appeal to the general public has dropped below the empty level to the reserve red light and there ain't a gas station within fifty-miles.
His moments in the limelight are over.
I don't know his intended audience but as far as this black man is concerned his swan song was a bunchchabullshit!
Something tells me that the black folks in Oke-She-Moke-She-Pop too could not care less about Charleston Heston.
These are a sophisticated folk. They mostly like the type of cracka you eat with soup.
They also have their own trials and tribulations. So why should they care as though Heston is a blood relative.