Edward Blake...
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*golf clap* Well Played.
Most of my favorite comics are dead. It's some kind of creepy sign of approval in a few of their cases.
Some, like Carlin, I loved for years and then he died.
Others, like Bill Hicks and Mitch Hedberg, I heard and loved their material, but didn't know who it was from initially. Then I get to know their names and give them proper credit...and they die.
One of my co-workers back on the ambulance used to do Hicks' line about being born somewhere besides America. He'd boil it down to just suddenly yelling four or fives times "**** in Paris! ****in Paris!" I didn't know WHAT his problem was at first. And my son would say" I am morally opposed to picket signs. But I have no idea how to express my disapproval." I recognized the sources as comics that I didn't know well.
Then I got to know their stuff. Then they died.
Crap.
