In case I ever become famous and die under mysterious and/or sketchy circumstances, I have already instructed several close friends to release a statement to the press informing them officially that I suffered a heart attack while sodomizing an underage male prostitute. I’m not gay, nor do I have an affinity for sodomy with minors, nor do I have a weak heart; the idea is to horrify people so totally that they cut out any idle, empty, and meaningless speculation about my (hypothetical) death.

As you probably guessed, this was brought on by Heath Ledger’s recent untimely passing. I don’t watch television if I can help it, so I have no idea if the mainstream media is over-saturated with coverage of the event, but I do walk around a major American university on a daily basis, and I’ve heard enough theories to send Chris Carter an entire season of fan-fic. The following quotes are 100% real:

“Well, I heard it was an O.D…”
“That’s what I thought, too, but then I heard that the pills weren’t scattered all over the place, so, you know…”
“I saw those pictures, I think he was stoned…”
“No, no, no, I’m telling you, I heard it was a prostitution thing…”
“You’re all wrong, he was killed on the set of The Dark Knight…”

Please, people, sit down. Shut up. Go back to your lives, you’re cheapening what this man accomplished in his lifetime. Speculating about why an actor died never accomplished anything for anyone. I can guarantee that Ledger would not appreciate this kind of attention. Stop cheapening a man’s work in a vain attempt to fill your empty lives. Read a book. Evolve. Do something constructive, instead of fixating on a person you never met. Leave the grieving to the people who knew him.