Goodbye Cruel World, Hello Mega Stardom

I wrote this blog on my birthday. My birthday. Did you write a blog on your birthday? Probably not. What were you doing on your birthday? Enjoying yourself or something equally selfish. More to the point, what were you doing on my birthday? Waiting for my blog is the answer you should give, but you were probably thinking of things to do on your birthday; bastard.


I’m only angry because my birthday is so close to Christmas, and New Year. Two celebrations in a row people can handle. They’re used to it, ready for it. ‘Christmas is done, I’m ready for NYE BRING IT ON!!’ Ask for them to join in a 3rd and the excuses start to come out. ‘Night out for your birthday Lewis? I would but my capacity for joy has reached its limit, plus my hair needs a wash and I’m not certain, but I think I have an in growing toe nail. Sorry, but what else can I do?’

If you have a birthday in the summer you can crank it up. ‘Come to my party – what else is there to do? Buy me presents, give your time selflessly, the sun is out.’

Have a birthday near Christmas and presents become an afterthought. ‘But I got you stuff last week, hmm, have these potatoes I didn’t eat.’ Whatever else he did, Jesus will always be known to me as the world’s greatest thunder stealer.

But that’s OK, I have a plan. A plan to make me more famous than any other blog writer ever. I’m going to die. End it. Kaput. Goodbye cruel world.

Before the tears flow like Babylon you should know there’s logic behind this. Paul McCartney has produced an almost endless body of work since leaving The Beatles. He can even play a mandolin. Yet in the BBC poll of 100 Greatest Britons he came 11 places below John Lennon. All Lennon did was lie in bed and get shot. (I should point out those were mutually exclusive events.)



There’s an airport named after John Lennon. He even managed to leave the parenting of his son to McCartney, cheat on his wife Yoko Ono, all with no reduction in his popularity. What he did do was die, and so Lennon became legend.

River Phoenix appeared in a small handful of films and his name is known world over as a great acting talent. He’s dead too, same as Jeff Buckley, a man who released just one album, yet has had documentaries made about him and been referred to as a musical genius. Before Nick Drake died he was playing to pub audiences and selling a handful of albums, now he’s dead he’s a must have in any cool music collection.

The problem comes with the blogs. If I’m dead how will I write them? Thought of that too. Michael Jackson is dead and he’s had albums released, so has Jimi Hendrix, Biggie Smalls, Tupac. All prolific. All dead.

Elvis even performs concerts through a holographic image, and he’s been dead for ages. Soon they’ll be resurrecting his corpse, polishing it up and dancing it around the stage like a demonic muppet. Watch closely and you might see a finger drop off as he jigs about to All Shook Up.

If you read next week’s blog and see my 13 followers increased to 13,000 you know what will have happened. The blog might look real, it might even make you laugh, but it won’t be mine, it’ll be hashed together from some notes I left on the back of a Sainsbury’s receipt. Don’t feel too bad though, rest assured my estate will get all the website hits.