Dr. Michael Schulenberg and your neighborhood Walgreens are probably wishing that an iconic spark plug of funk in bell bottoms, cha cha heels, and a sexy attitude had never moved with catlike grace into their lives. TMZ reports that Prince’s family is suing his doctor (and the Walgreens corporation) over his death by fentanyl overdose in April 2016.
When future Vegas residency Justin Timberlake made comas look entertaining during the Superbowl this year, he took a moment to pay homage to dearly departed halftime legend and sexy-motherfucker-even-in-death Prince. His “homage” was tacky bullshit, though, and was obviously just an attempt to spit on Prince’s purple paisley genderbended mausoleum urn because he’s pressed that Prince was everything and he’s the kind of person who allowed mockery of homeless people at his wedding. He’s also probably irritated because Prince thought he was beneath his purple contempt. Especially when it came to having to share a bathroom with him. It’s true, his Royal Badness had to share a bathroom with Justin Timberlake one time and he was displeased over it. Hopefully the people involved in that decision received a lifetime ban from Paisley Park. Continue reading
After Prince made heaven a sexier place in 2016, the Midwest Medical Examiner’s office declared that he died of an accidental fentanyl overdose. Fentanyl is also what took Michael Jackson and Tom Petty. An investigation into Prince’s death was opened, and today Carver County attorney Mark Metz announced that the investigation is now closed. And unlike in the case of Michael Jackson, nobody will be charged and no one will go to prison.
According to CNN, Mark Metz said in a press conference that Jehovah’s Sexiest Witness had no idea he was taking fentanyl. Prince did have an opiate addiction, and some Vicodin pills he bought turned out to be counterfeit. They were laced with fentanyl. I guess the Carver County prosecutors don’t have a Detective La Toya Jackson on staff, because they failed to get to the bottom of EVERYTHING. They weren’t able to find out who Prince bought dirty Vicodin pills from, and there’s no evidence that proves people around him knew he was really taking fentanyl. Why do I have a feeling that during their investigation, prosecutors got a voicemail on their tip line from a mystery woman with an Irish accent who said, “Check out that shifty dick sucker Arse-inio Hall.”
Another purple nug from the Prince vault has been unearthed. Prince apparently had aspirations of becoming the face of the Black Lives Matter movement. But Price wanted a second so he thought and he thought about who he’d like to have join him in his crusade against racial injustice. I guess Chaka Khan wasn’t unavailable so he went the next person on his list, Donatella Versace.
Joey Fatone wasn’t lying when he said that NSYNC was not going to inject some hotness (don’t act like Joey Fatone thrusting his crotch ain’t the epitome of hotness) into the Super Bowl halftime show. Janet Jackson wasn’t lying when she said that she was not going to save the Super Bowl halftime show by popping up on the stage to pull a front panel on Justin Timberlake’s pants and reveal his pierced right nut. Sheila E wasn’t lying when she said that there would not be a Prince hologram during the Super Bowl halftime show. There wasn’t a Prince hologram, but there was a blurry ass Prince projection on a giant wrinkly sheet.
Prolific poet Ludacris once said, “I’ve got hoes, in different area codes (area, area codes..codes).” Well, 84-year-old Quincy Jones is living that piece of eloquent prose and has even taken it international.
Quincy did an interview with Chris Heath for GQ, and it’s a wild, messy ride (like the scene after Quincy and his 22 pieces have a group meet-up) from start to finish. Horny Ole’ Q gets into how he bought drugs from Malcom X , turned down Marilyn Monroe (uh huh), watched Ray Charles shoot heroin into his own nutsack (Ray’s not Quincy’s), always thought Elvis was a shit singer and was supposed to be at Sharon Tate’s house the night of the Manson Family Murders. (Why does every celebrity from the late-60s have a story about how they were supposed to be at Sharon Tate’s house that night?).
Quincy doesn’t only talk about the past, he talks about the now too, like how he hates Taylor Swift’s songs and how he’s got the United Nations of pepaw dicks.