#27 Celebrity Suicide Notes - Elton John

My Darling John,

It is with tremendous sadness that I leave you this note, but I am devoid of the courage necessary to bear this bad wind out. I am not an Iron man (not in that way) I never was nor would I ever want to be. All I am is a potato with a hole, plucked from the dirt and fucked for over half a century. John, if any one will understand that, you will. My Sweetheart, it's all become way too very much. Sorry.

Two full bottles of Babycham... I've downed the lot. Knocked them back from a long cocktail glass, the bubbles tumbling over the rim as if in orgasmic celebration. What a majestic sentiment... even my own poison celebrates my departure. But, I've laughed. Dear have I just! On this last night I've laughed at the pathetic, squeaky, shapeless shit I've become. Sitting here naked, letting it all hang out, my belly at least saving me the sight of my pitiful little willy that shrivelled away into grey pub(l)ic hair years ago. I've half the world's fortune in my bank, but it means nothing when your own skin repels others. Even less when it repels yourself.

A bald glitter queen! Can you imagine that shame? No, of course you can't. When I finally remedied my genetic handicap I had the figure and shape of Sponge-bob... I became ever more ridiculous. The world wants pathetic celebrities... it needs them. It was by looking at me that millions each morning happily traipsed into factory's or blackened themselves under cars for 12 hours a day. Relieved by the fact that at least they were not ME! I could have been a mechanic... I should have been anything but Elton Sparklin' Shit John! What a terrible and outrageous waste of space.

John, It will not be pretty. I will not leave a clean mess behind. I'm gonna stuff my arse full of pearls and hundred dollar bills, then do a swan dive from the top of the Westin Peachtree Plaza Hotel here in Atlanta. I want to leave the authorities a huge clean-up operation. A dark red splodge of brains, shit and blood, scattered for miles around. It'll not be much different from what I done in life.

Well, the drinks are gone now, lights gradually blink off all over town and one last sleepy classic drifts out into the night. I think it's time for me to go.

My parting wish is this: I hope my impact with the earth will smash the shell of Elton clean from around my body; I do not want to die as that man. I desire it so as when they scoop me up and finally rearrange all the pieces, that instead of an A-list celebrity patched together on the slab, it will instead be the bland, boring, unimportant body of Mr Reginald Kenneth Dwight. A nobody from Pinner without a hope in the world.

I love You My Sweet Darling John.... FUCK this shit of a life!

XX R. K. D XX