What Whitney’s death has taught me

Through everything; the sex, the drugs, the booze, liquor, the bad films, Bobby Brown painting Evil Eyes on the living room walls, I have learned one thing from Ms Houston’s pre-Grammy death.

And that is – Hotel rooms kill people, more specifically and more often, they kill celebrities.

It is for this reason that I have decided that I will no longer stay in hotels.

The last thing I want is to be found by some ungainly and foreign chambermaid, spread eagle’d on the double bed, naked as the day I was born, with a pair of worn underpants wound around my neck (I am not saying that poor Whitney went this way, but be that as it may…).

It just seems to me that too many celebrities go into hotel rooms, do drugs, make phone calls, entertain characters of dubious morals and then are found the next morning by the help, dead and naked.

And nobody knows what happened in between, especially the visitors of dubious morals. So the logical conclusion is that the hotel room was somehow involved. There is the common link, the hotel room did it.

At least Marilyn Monroe had the sense to go at home.

Now that’s class for you.

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3 responses to “What Whitney’s death has taught me

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