Alan Thicke was potentially the nicest man in Hollywood. One decent Canadian. There’s never been a single bad word said about Alan Thicke. His offscreen persona seemed to mirror the perfectly sweatered dads he portrayed on television. Like Bill Cosby, but without the ninety rape victims. Even his various ex-wives had nothing but nice words for the guy over the years. Thicke died from cardiac arrest while playing ice hockey in a pickup league with his seventeen year old son. His last words were literally, “Great shot, son!” Fucking eh.
Appropriate social media me-too RIPs for dead good people is to mention how you’re personally affected by the death, your loose connection to the decedent, and a blessing to the family. Photos of you two chumming around in ’92 never hurts. Actress Lisa Edelstein from House and some other new Bravo show not meant for guys had a different plan:
It’s impossible for people who don’t live and work in Los Angeles or swaths of Manhattan to understand the complete existential dismay encompassing the inhabitants since November 8th. It’s as if Jesus descended in a bible belt town and told the faithful he was never coming back. Also, he’s gay and hates football. Utter dread and confusion and a search for meaning.
A good man is dead and you’re making Trump jokes. Not jokes so much as thinly veiled passive aggressive venting. The body’s still warm. There’s nothing worse than a drop-in asshole. Commit or get out. Amateur.
Photo credit: FameFlynet