Bemoaned

He is dead, many confirmed. I am sad for the people who knew him, though I never did. to me he will always be 'what's his name.' He died peacefully in the eye of a tornado, he died on a bus to the City of Angels. it was so sudden a shock to all our systems caught us all off-guard minds reeling as we contemplated the loss. May his wig be kept embalmed in aspic. May his chin and its infamous dimple be cast in Plaster of Paris a template for a million molds. May the print of his feet be tattooed upon the lower back of all middle aged starlets a tragic headline be embossed on the backside of the moon. Ring the grave church bell walk a mournful walk as well, respectfully talk of a life; its celebrated grace, its unexpected fall one we never knew or now recall at all.