Apparently it is open season. Kman and I joke about 4 horsemen showing up in acid-washed jean jackets and assless chaps (a redundancy there), and calling themselves Apocalypss. They would bear guitars, and hammer out Poison guitar solos. No one got the memo that the '80s are over. So they are all pissed the hell off at Pestilenz. He was responsible for the outfits.

And it's open season. While their guitars gently weep, celebs are dropping like flies. We should've known when Mr. Kungfu died. That was a sure sign. Next up, well, not my job to predict. Don't want a reputation as a crow. Or something worse. Accuracy doesn't need to happen here. Not this kind of accuracy. Don't want to play in your dead pool. It's surefire way to catch the attention of the aforementioned band. They don't play nice. Or particularly well. You'd think that they would be taking lessons from Hendrix or something.

Probably ADHD, and they lack Ritulin up thereabouts. Practice isn't their strong suit. Understandable, really. There are bigger fish to fry. Those are still in the making, and with the King dead, there has to be another crowning. Not sure with what. But there again, not my job to predict. Only watch Macaulay Culkin. There has to be a child star out there to pay for the sins of the fathers and the sons. Turgenev would have it no other way. Neither would Tolstoy, truth be told. He was always about the morality play. But he hid it better. Far easier to play the Pater Familia card. You get further in society that way.

Again, not going to predict anything. But keep an eye out for the vulnerable train-wreck ones. Roll call early and often. Courtney, Lindsey are you there girls? Better watch the Twitter deck. Because something is gonna happen. It always does. And if you can scoop your co-worker, so much the better. Those horsemen need the PR machine. They aren't Santa and can't do it all overnight.