#21 Celebrity Suicide Notes - Julia Roberts

Dear John,

What was once a world of love and light has now morphed into something beyond description. All I can say for certain is that it is black. Even darker. I cannot and do not want to go on any more.

My career and beauty is failing me and I will not be one of these celebrities that waltz around town horrendously sagging and falling to pieces. I've tried surgery but all that seems to do is pause one's features in time, whilst death seeps out through the pores.

It's very hard to believe that just under 10 years ago I was lifting up an Academy Award and now I have to beg and suck to get a minor cameo as a post-menopausal grandmother. I will not sink to those lengths. I will not sink to my knees... not anymore. Not at my age.

I regret all my marriages, even my current one. When the doors are closed Daniel is an absolute monster; possessed with jealousy and rage. It really is like “Sleeping with the Enemy”! The ONLY man I do not regret is YOU. John, my friend unto the grave.

With my drinking now at a stupendous level and with drunken sex-tapes soon to surface I can only escape in a more permanent way. I am taking the emergency exit outta here. haha.

Although I do not remember any of my pregnancies, I have come to cherish my three boys. If I miss anything I will miss them (and you of course.)

John, maybe if the world was more like you I would have struggled on until the end. But it is not. Unfortunately, the world is a callous, sick and plastic place. Behind the glitz is nothing but shit.

I am not sad, or ill, or depressed. I am not even particularly suicidal. I just want to be dead. That's all. It's no more serious than that.

As with everything I have ever done in my life, I will carry this out with the upmost professionalism. I WILL get the part! (laugh)

Please ensure I do not have an open coffin.

I want to be cremated.

Kiss the boys goodbye & take good care of yourself.

John I Love You.

Julia R.
XXX

#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

#33 Celebrity Suicide Notes - David Beckham

Dear John,

I wern't ever one for words. Always fell out my mouth awkward, like my brain was using all its force just to move my mouth. I felt like a badly dubbed film, when behind all the bad sound effects there was something profound squeeking away. At the end of the day I learnt to speak with actions. To show beauty in what I done.

I'm sorry for the mess. my artery has started spraying...

i4M GOING HOME;

Luv, D.
x

#39 Celebrity Suicide Notes - Simon Cowell

Dear John,

“I don't mean to be rude, but...”

Well there is no “but”, not this time. My sick cynical outbursts have no more retards left to abuse and so I do the decent honest thing and turn my failings in on myself. Well, that was always the truth of it anyway. Each time I had a 38 year old crooning nobody goofing away in front of me, I really just saw myself. Any one of those talentless goons could have been me... All of them were.

I'm just a foot with a mouth in it! Yeah that works. Kicking the dreams outta tramps, that's my business. The 33rd worst Briton? Come on!!! 10th most terrifying TV celebrity? Fuck you! I take it up the arse and spit it out my mouth. F**k YOU, yeah F**K YOU! Tristram Spencer you're just a talentless 2inch hard-on!

Well, I'm done and I'm alone (almost) ...

The other three judges chairs are empty. Minogue is on the bog, Walsh is with her (something to do with an apology???). Cole is having something done with her lips and Osborne, Queen Bitch Hellfire Osborne... well, I'm not even going there. The last thing I need is the Women's Lib Lesbo Cancer Brigade damning me in the obituary notice. No, for this one time I'll keep my mouth shut (metaphorically of course!) My mouth has to be open for the shotgun... I'm gonna fire my brains all over the cheap suited executives behind.

John, it's hot under the studio lights... real hot like you'll never imagine. But I'm gonna stand for this one last song, the pêrformance of my life...

I Dreamed A Dream in time gone by
When hope was high and life worth living
I dreamed that love would never die
I dreamed that God would be forgiving

had a dream my life would be
So different from the hell I’m living
So different now from what it seemed
Now life has killed the dream I dreamed...

 John, I'll see you downstairs... don't forget to bring the lube.
Simon.


© Copyright of Simon Cowell 2010
© Suicide note written by and copyright of Susan Boyle

#47 Celebrity Suicide Notes -

Dear John,

There are NO suicidal celebrities this week, not even Britney Spears. The closest we can get is Morrissey, but apparently he's always been like that.

No, for some bizarre reason the A-list, B-list and EVEN the C list stars are ALL ecstatically happy and want to live. Leading this "I want to Live" campaign is no other than US presidant Barack Obama. He has even quit smoking in order to buy himself an extra 5 or 10 minutes smile time.

Hollywood Star paper/magazine says: "it's quite incredible!" and "we've never seen anything like it... everyone just seems diabolically cheerful and full of zest!"

One anonymous commentator, from a toilet somewhere in Southeast London, claimed to know the secret of the smiling stars. “John's coming home!” he beamed “In just under 24hrs My Love is coming home. Oh, I want to live forever!”

#55 Celebrity Suicide Notes - Kirstie Alley

My Darling John,

I will not lie and pretend you have not hurt me: you have (badly). But in my hour of need I know you are not a mean person and will understand my pain better than anyone else. I know I wasn't always the greatest friend, sometimes too distant, sometimes too needy. But I was friend, and you was also that to me... more.

♫♫ Making your way in the world today
takes everything you got
taking a break from all the worry
Sure would help a lot
Wouldn't you like to get away...♫♫

How true are those words! Yes I would like to “get away” and I will.

One could say: Scientology's done me “up the arse”. $5, 000 000 and I'm still pushing 200lb... what a rip off! They promised me “You'll once again be toilet porn for the family” and “Every kid from here to Afghanistan will be 'knocking one out' over you!” Well it hasn't happened! Once again God has let me down.

The very last straw was my Wikipedia photo. Here: Fat Alley smiling
Behind me were two Hollywood executives, one whispering to the other “She's just a Fat Barmaid'” and in front of me I had an interviewer luring me over with a tub of Ben & Jerry's Chunky Munky ice cream (you can see its shadow on my left breast). After gorging the entire tub I felt like a starlett whore. There I was, waddling into a premiere, bursting for a shit and with BJ cream all over my tits! What the Fuck! It was there, at that point, I realised Scientology doesn't work, there is no God, and unless someone decides to make a film with a 50 year old obese heroine, I've no chance of landing another fucking role in my life. No, all that's left is the knife... and I'm not talking about the surgeon's!

John, I will not suffer and sweat any more and want to check out while I can still at least support my own body weight. I don't want to be buried in a wheelchair!

My preferred choice of suicide would be 'hanging', but I'd only end up pulling the ceiling down. I can see it now, me bursting out unscathed from under the debris and staggering off in the direction of the fridge for 'one last' cream cake(s). Nah, it's too risky. Then there's putting myself through a mincer, but that's more a sexual fantasy and not really possible. So, I've decided, it's either gonna be a boring overdose, or the more dramatic/romantic act of slicing my 'wiping' hand off. I think I'm gonna go with tablets... barbiturate overdose is a bit of a tradition amongst us Fatties.

Well, that's it John... my mind is made up. By the time you read this I will be liberated from the donut shaped body I am trapped within. Be as sad as you like (don't hold back!), it's a tragedy and i want people to be crushed and broken by my loss. If any internet site starts up as a place for the bereaved and grief-stricken to meet and console each other, would you please make sure they put my face in the centre of a huge heart made from roses - just like they did when Princess Diana died.

No matter where I end up, be sure I am thinking of You... I am always thinking of You.

I Love You 'till the end of Time, Kirstie A. XXXXXXXXX

#61 Celebrity Suicide Notes - The Entire English Football Team

Heil John,

We know football's not your cup of tea, but it's not ours either... really! A 4- 1 trouncing, on the world's largest stage, against our historic rivals, there's no coming back from that! Still, it's nothing compared to what would happen if we were to return home. The English press and local meatheads would quite literally pull, rip, and arsehole fuck us to death. No, we're going to show our national pride and disappointment in another way: A group shower in Zyclon B. What could be more fitting than that: a football holocaust.

It will be a 23 man(ish) team suicide. Our minds are absolutely and unwaveringly set on that. However, we do have one major concern: Wayne “The missing link” Rooney, who we fear may survive (even benefit) from the gassing. Not through choice, of course, but rather due to hundreds of years of incestuous inbreeding, which has produced a creature quite immune to death. The Rooneys of this world don't grow old and die, they grow mushroom noses and go to prison for murder, rape and sodomy. We don't know what the hell that means, but we're grieving, so please spare us having to explain each and every fucking word. Some things just happen. Wayne Rooney “just happened”. Our 4-1 defeat “just happened”. A Wheelchair on a church “just happened”. When will this blood-thirsty shit munching nation wake up, smell the coffee and realize: not everything can be explained, predicted or understood! Give us a break, already... goddammit!

Johnny, by the time your sweet arse has read this note, England's national football squad will no longer exist. We'll just be a mountain of calves, butt cheeks, deflated balls and hard-ons. There may even be a couple of turds dropped in the mix – something quite fitting to the occasion, wouldn't you agree? Shit: stinking, sweating, steaming, semi-solid bum spill, a final tribute to The Kingdom.

John, please take care of yourself. Rest, convalesce, get your head and yourself together and then get the hell out of this fucking country. You deserve better than what it has to offer. We ALL love you John... you are leagues apart from any other man. You are all the beauty that there has ever been – even more than that. You are the rarest of rare pearls and it was an honour to even know you. Until soon My Sweet and Beautiful Man, we have loved you until the bitter end...

The English National Footie Team.
XXXXX WE LOVE YOU! XXXXX
       XXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Lord make the nations see,
That men should brothers be,
And form one family
God save The Queen"

#70 Celebrity Suicide Notes - Stephen Hawking

Dear John

like you I also found myself wheelchair bound in my twenties, that was 4 decades ago. Then wheelchairs were bulky difficult things, none of these modern hi-tech gabs that are now on the market. But regardless of the chair, how sophisticated it is, the invalid is no less able than before. All technology enables one to say is “I need a shit” in time. I suppose that's something, but who wants 'some thing'... who wants 'some thing' in a wheelchair?

It's been a terrible long and frustrating life, john listen to me, wheelchairs have no future, the disabled are condemned and the sooner you realize that and get off this moving ballbag the better. There is no better hell than this, but there is an end.

Of course through my gradual deterioration, the knowing of what was to become of me, suicide has arisen before. My second year in Cambridge was one long suicidal thought, but I clung on hoping that the doctors were wrong, that science was wrong and that I was a fool for believing in it. Well, the doctors were wrong, and so was every expert from Queensland to Nevada. They had promised my then fiancee 3 years and then she'd be a widow – I'd be dead! Of course, knowing that she accepted my withered hand in marriage and signed herself away to thirty years of my miserable needs and requirements. I didn't want that either, but I needed a hand to wipe my arse, and she was good at that. That may seem selfish, but it is a selfish world and we all revolve in the same way. Was I ever in love? No. When one has glimpsed into this universe, seen it's mechanics, one can be sure love does not exist. It is a human sentiment geared at expanding the implosion, that is all. It was my parents 'booby prize' for giving birth to me.

Well you made me, now I'll kill ME. A real act of independence. It's not courageous, it's just an end. I am sick of responding to questions and writing books with small movements of my arse cheeks. I am sick of seeing my own lopsided face leering out from a million handicap international t-shirts and badges. So I'm going to join the stars.

For this special occasion I've hired an African escort/nurse/rentboy and tonight, before sending myself into orbit on a Chinese Rocket, I'm going to experience first hand some real 'black hole'. I've written extensively about them, what it's like to enter one, the crushing physical demands on the body, but it was all from imagination... an imagination too depraved to have a mouth to communicate it freely. Tonight I will finally discover if all black holes are identical beyond their mass, run the 'no hair theorum' through it's paces, put the 'four laws of black hole mechanics' to test. Tonight physics go back to basics and my brief history in time will conclude.

John, John, John... your name is almost enough to make me reconsider. If i thought I could 'have you' in this world, then I would. But my pain ends, where yours is about to begin. I truly hope you don't last forty years, that you are out of here before your first voice-box arrives. That is the last great wish I can relay to you.

Love is a myth, but revolution is not. John I will revolve around you forever. You put a wheelchair on a church, now I'm going to put one on the moon...

Your faithful damaged satellite, Stephen H. XxXxX

#77 Celebrity Suicide Notes - SIR Paul McCartney

Hey John,
don't make it bad
Take a sad song and make it better
Remember NOT to let her into your...

HOUSE coz she'll take your money, career, car and accuse you of things like:

"He proceeded to manhandle me, flung me into my wheelchair and wheeled it outside, screaming to apologise for 'winding him up'."

Really, you know, what does one have to be, you know, to get away with sadistic abuse, you know. D'you know what I mean tho?

Errrhhmmmm, like really, how many Mull of Kintyres does a man have to write like, d'you know what I mean?. But yer know yerself 'ow it is, tho. 'course yer do.

You know, I'm not gonna rake up the past, all the Beatles stuff, you know. In fact, like, musics out the equation tonight. It's just me, nowt else. Just me and a bit of conscience, you know, like guilt. Transcendental meditation ain't gonna help me none here, you know. Maharishi's gone to take a shit. It's just me, d'you kinda know what I mean?

O Jesus, how did it come to this, like? I lose an 'orrible scatty fifty yair old minger and ten years later, count em: T-E-N, an ex porn star with a missing leg is taking me to court wanting even half a frozen broccoli lasagne!. D'you know what I mean? Can yer kinda see where I'm coming from tho?

Well, that was a while ago now, man. I know I should bury it, fold while I've still got a missus who picks the early worm, but something is missing, you know. I feel like an amputee merself, you know, like one of those, wots they called... erhhhmmmm, yeh, you know, mineland victims, right.

It's like the peace of the 60's is over, man, like finished as in finito. It's like them days are so far away that they never really existed, you know. Now a new vibe, kind of a new wave anger is passing through me. Like a spiritual happening thing like, you know, like the old days in the cavern, but with energy turned to rage. It's like I can kinda erupt at any minute, you know, and if I do that I would wish I was dead anyway, right? No?

But it's sound. I've got it figured. It's like what am I now, 68, you know. I'm wearing nappies on stage and still writing Ob Li Di la la songs. I figure, something nasty like is gonna swallow me up any minute, like this kind of organic submarine, yeah, with a mouth, you know, teeth and a law suit, and this video, you know, like “never seen before” you know “Sir paul McCartney on video torturing disabled wife!” Nah, you know yerself how it is, you know, dark, scary, histories waiting to consume you. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

I'm in this dark place right now, like, right at the bottom of the descent, you know, like it can't get any worse tho it is. It's like death is calling, whistling a happy scouse tune, like. There's this kind of escape, I feel it, like death is the door to life, like the ultimate White Album. Well, I'm rambling , but you know that yerself like. I just wish, you know, like I culd 'ave slipped in a few scatty jokes like, you know went out with the famous scouse tickle and all. But i've always been, you know, like a miserable cunt, you know, as mean as fuck and twice as ruthless, like i'd stab backs for pennies and sulk for years over royalties, you know. But tonight, ahhhh, tonight “No More Lonely Nights”

John, My Love, in a moment I will restore my honour in death: Hari kari (could there be a better way?). It will be like returning a little of what I took. You know, like where the Queen back-stabbed me, now I'm gonna give her a prick back. It's like “I've come, now it's your turn Ma'am!”

Well, I think I've kinda said enough, but yer know that yerself, like. It's like time to put the fiddle down, give my loose change to charity and walk forward into fate with a million regrets. I was corrupted John, all the adulation corrupted and poisoned me. The same will happen to you! Adulation will turn you into a monster. Don't forget that, like, and don't forget me. You have always been so non_judgemental, and in my last sentence, you know, my last word, I want it to end on You, for You is all there is that's decent in this world. Without You I would have suicided many years ago. Cheerio, My beautiful Man... Ta rah Ta rah...

SIR Paul McCartney – Champion of the little man.

X I X LOVE X YOU X LOVE X ME X DO X

#84 Celebrity Suicide Notes - Sonny Bono

Mr Sweet Boy John,

It is Monday January 5th 1998 and I don't know when you'll receive this note, if ever, but nevertheless it is important to write, even if it ends floating in the Salton sea or flogged in some macabre memorabilia store that us yanks love so much. It doesn't matter, what matters is that I get certain things off my chest before I ski myself into a tree. Pathetic, I know, but it must look like an accident – my life insurance policy is invalidated by suicide.

John, I have been a father, four times, but never a good one. I was neglectful and selfish and unloving. Little bits of myself I treated like shit because they demanded more of me than they already had. But my neglect, hatred of a certain child, is a kind of guilt that has fostered and fermented inside me. Now I am drunk on my own conscience, it's like I am my own eco-system of poison from which I cannot escape. And I have lived and sinned long enough to realize that there is no redemption, that redemption is just the first stage of one's eternal punishment. Nobody has ever quite realized that, but I have!

Was a queer child my fault? Is it a guilt I must carry and let destroy me? Well no, but making that child even queerer, abusing it while it swam in a sea of confusion now seems like the worst torture I could have inflicted upon it. I did nothing to 'heal' it, only pushed it deeper into a world of homosexual depravity, and of course, that child being a part of me, well... are my child's sins also mine? In many ways yes. A parents main influence is an invisible one. It lays behind discipline and nice homes and money and etiquette. There is also the aura of the parent, like an album, a feel/atmosphere which that person gives off. When I close my eyes and think of my aura it is dark and looming and scary and oppressing – there is not one single watt of love which shines through.

But what am I saying here??? I don't even know. What I know is that in many ways you resemble my transgender child, and by writing all this to you it almost feels like I am writing it to him. It is an apology from the grave, but not an apology of who you are or what I made you, but an apology of me, my behaviour and faults. I cannot change the past, but I can affect the future, unfortunately not with me in it.

So I will leave now. There are a set of skis, hard fast snow, and a tree waiting for me. If my calculations are even half correct by the time anyone/you reads this note my head will be pushed inside my chest cavity and I will be frozen stiff somewhere on the Nevada side of the Heavenly Ski Resort.

Please keep yourself well, I will die less painfully knowing that someone like you exists somewhere in this world. For a long time now your beauty is all I have survived on, but now even that fades. Not you, of course, but me. You will be an eternal star. One that shines so bright that all the other stars seem dull...

I love YOU so much sweetheart, please return to me one day... I beg you!!!

Until we meet again, Sonny B. XxX