Sadness

Hollywood has Angelyne, Beverly Hills has Quween on the Scene, London has Layla Flaherty, New York has too many to name and Austin had Leslie, a Texas icon who made the job of the local Parks and Recreation Department easier by bringing his twinkling charisma and priceless style to the streets. Austin is a little less weirder today, because Leslie passed away at the age of 60 in a hospice this morning.

KXAN (Thanks to Rachel & Anna for sending this in) reports that Albert Leslie Cochran was hospitalized last month before he was transferred to a hospice. Leslie's health was never the same after he underwent brain surgery in 2009 for an injury he suffered when he fell in front of a taxi late one night. That wasn't Leslie's first head injury. Before Leslie moved to Austin over 20 years ago, he busted his head something serious in a motorcycle accident in Colorado.

Leslie, who was married for a quick second, worked as a truck driver and a disc jockey before he entertained the masses in Austin by sashaying around in a nalgas-bearing thong. Leslie also ran for a mayor a few times and advocated for the rights of the city's homeless. One of Leslie's friends Christine Ann, a shop owner, had this to say about Austin's special rose:

"Leslie lived outside the box. He exemplified that, but also spoke ... passionately that we not take ourselves too seriously. And Leslie, of course, never did. He will be remembered as the icon of weird, the ambassador of weirdness, if you will. As an Austin icon."

Dlisted readers might know Leslie as the star of a few CAPTION THIS Contests. I thank Leslie for that. I couldn't find a place to send donations (if donations are needed) for Leslie's funeral services, so send one over if you come across one. I mean, Leslie has to have a tombstone shaped like a thong. I was about to tell you to put on a thong in Leslie's honor today, but I'm sure your ass is already wearing one. (UPDATE: If you're in the Austin area, you can drop off a donation at BookPeople.)

Rest in peace, Leslie. You are turning the angels on with a hip sway and making heaven a lot more weirder today.

That sound you hear is Marcia Brady's world crashing down around her, because her one true soulmate has taken the last train to Heavensville. Davy Jones (that's Davy Jones of The Monkees for those of you fetus people who didn't watch episodes of The Monkees on an analog TV while getting carpet burns from lying on the shag rug) died from a heart attack at his home in Florida this morning. Davy was only 66.

Davy Jones started his career begging for fake porridge as the Artful Dodger in a London production of Oliver! and he went on to star in the Broadway production as well. Davy did some TV shit after that, but he really started making polyester panties drop when he was cast in The Monkees in 1965. The Monkees was canceled in 1968, but it forever lives on in re-runs watched by hos like myself who thought for the longest time that The Monkees were the younger brothers of The Beatles. I ate window flies as a child, so that explains things.

Davy is survived by his wife Jessica and his 4 daughters.

If this news wasn't tragic enough, I Googled "Davy Jones" and 90% of the pictures were of that tentacle-faced douche Davy Jones from Pirates of the Caribbean. It's ALWAYS too soon for that kind of Google foolery.

Rest in peace, Davy. You are hip shimmying with the angels now.

Dame Judi Dench tells The Mirror that she's been diagnosed with macular degeneration, a condition that can cause blindness, and is trying to keep her sight. Before she was diagnosed, Judi's eyesight was already starting to go and she needed help reading scripts. It's gotten much worse. Judi's daughter has to read her scripts and she can barely see faces right in front of her. This might be okay if most of the faces in front of her belonged to a Kardashian, but that's not the case for Judi and so day-to-day life has gotten a little harder. Dame Judi explained it like this to The Mirror during an interview:

“I’ve got what my ma had, macular degeneration, which you get when you get old. I had wet in one eye and dry in the other and they had to do these injections and I think it’s arrested it. I hope so.

I can’t see your face at all now, but I can see your outline. I can see over there [she indicates the far side of the room, some 15ft away]. The most distressing thing is in a restaurant in the evening I can’t see the person I’m having dinner with. Actually, what I miss are people corpsing on stage.

I know there might be something going on but sometimes I can’t see it and that infuriates me as I think I’m really missing out on something.”

You get used to it. I’ve got lenses and glasses and things and very bright light helps. I can do a crossword if it’s bright sunshine but if a cloud comes out the next minute I can’t see anything.”

Judi misses reading books, but she's going to buy a digital book reader to make the words bigger. Judi also waves away any talk of her retiring and she plans to keep acting for as long as possible.

NOT DAME JUDI! You know, but with or without her eyesight, Dame Judi can still out act most of the young hos out there. Can't somebody donate their eyeballs to Dame Judi? That sentence was mostly directed at White Oprah, because it's not like she ever uses hers to look in the mirror or to see how much she's fucked up her daughters. WELL, it's Dame Judi we're talking about. She's an international treasure.

This picture of 95-year-old legendary clubkid Zelda Kaplan was taken yesterday at the Joanna Mastroianni fashion show just minutes before she died as the second model took the runway. As Riley K (no relation), who sent this to me, said: Now THAT, ladies & gents, is how you make an EXIT!

Ruth Finley was sitting next to Zelda at the show and told The Washington Post that she suddenly slumped over. Ruth thought that Zelda fainted and didn't know at the time that her spirit was floating on to the great big front row in the sky. After Zelda slumped over, two men carried her away and she was pronounced dead at the hospital. The show still went on and those who knew Zelda say that's what she would've wanted, because she lived and died for fashion.

Zelda grew up in New Jersey and was a housewife from the 50s to the 60s. When Zelda moved to NYC in the 60s, she went from housewife to party girl. Zelda went out almost every night to all sorts of events, only drank champagne and didn't get up before 2pm. When Zelda wasn't doing humanitarian work in Africa, she was poppin' her pussy on the dance floor next to Amanda Lepore and other clubkids.

Some people say that they want to die in a bed of white cotton sheets while surrounded by their weeping family and friends, but fuck that. Zelda showed us how it's really done by dying while doing what she loved. That's why I want to die with a Zinger (or a peen, I'm not too picky) in my mouth while writing the words "this stupid bitch" in a blog post about a stupid bitch.

Rest in peace, Zelda. You're now in up heaven, out-partying the angels.

Well, here's just another layer of sad on another layer of sad. TMZ, who else, reported about an hour ago that Whitney Houston and Bobby Brown's 18-year-old daughter Bobbi Kristina was taken out of the Beverly Hilton this morning on a stretcher. I've been sitting on it, because I've been waiting to hear more. TMZ hasn't updated their post yet, but ABC News was told that Bobbi Kristina was awake and alert when paramedics took her to Cedars-Sinai. Someone's publicist (ABC doesn't say whose) says that Bobbi Kristina is suffering from major anxiety. People also reports that Bobbi Kristina went to Cedars last night after having a breakdown.

I've got nothing except one question: Why in the hell isn't Bobaaay B in L.A. already?

The Associated Press is reporting that Whitney Houston has joined Amy Winehouse in Heaven's ultimate girl group in the sky. Whitney's rep confirms that she passed away this afternoon, but didn't give anymore details. I will write more as soon as I can write more words than: SHOW ME THE RECEIPTS, JESUS!

Okay, I'm back and I still can't believe it. When this first came up on my inbox, I thought it was a hoax and then when I read that her rep confirmed it, I had goosebumps on my nails. Whitney was out with Ray-J the other night and her situation didn't look good, but I didn't think things were that bad. Whitney just shot the remake of Sparkle and I thought she was going to have a huge comeback. I thought she was going to outlive Bobb-aaaay B and everybody else. I was beyond wrong.

TMZ says that Whitney died at the Beverly Hills Hotel this afternoon. It was initially reported that Ray-J is the one who found Whitney in her hotel room, but that's not true. The paramedics were already at the hotel on an unrelated call, so they got to Whitney within minutes after somebody called 911. They tried to bring her back by giving her CPR, but it didn't work and she was pronounced dead at 3:55pm. Both Cissy Houston and Dionne Warwick spoke with Whitney before she died and said she seemed fine.

Whitney is survived by her daughter Bobbi Kristina.

There's really nothing for me to say except that this is really fucking sad. Whitney was all talent and she when she wasn't entertaining us with her voice, she was giving us gems like "Show me the receipts" (Which I use at least twice a day, right?) and "Hell to the no." This is just sad. The Grammys better scrap all of tomorrow night's show and give us a Whitney tribute starring only Dionne Warwick. The only person I want to hear from right now is Cousin Dionne.

Rest in peace, Whitney.

Two R.I.P. posts in a row and it's not even noon. Grab a few bottles of Strawberry Hill, bring a fully stocked bong and pull the blanket over February.

Aaron and Nick Carter's sister, Leslie Carter (in the middle), died yesterday in upstate New York and that's pretty much all we know. The Carter family released a statement to Access Hollywood, but they're keeping the cause of Leslie's death to themselves for now.

“Our family is grieving right now and it’s a private matter. We are deeply saddened for the loss of our beloved sister, daughter, and granddaughter, Leslie Carter. We request the utmost privacy during this difficult time.”

Like Aaron and Nick, Leslie was a singer and had a song called "Like Wow" on the Shrek soundtrack. Leslie was also in the family's mess of a reality show The House of Carters. She married her husband Mike in 2008 and gave birth to their daughter Alyssa Jane on April 1, 2011.

It's one thing to wake up to the news that Don Cornelius has strut up to heaven at the age of 75, but it's another hearing that you got there after he apparently committed suicide. And on the first day of Black History Month. Damn. Damn. Damn. TMZ says that police were called to Don's home in Sherman Oaks, CA early this morning after he allegedly shot himself in the head. Don was shortly pronounced dead at the hospital. Don's family hasn't confirmed any of this and an investigation into the cause of his death is happening right now.

Don was apparently in a sad and sick way after divorcing his wife in 2009. Before the judge granted the divorce, Don told the court that he was suffering from major health problems and wanted the divorce behind him before he died. During the past few years, Don had a stroke and had to undergo brain surgery.

Don created Soul Train in 1970, because he wanted to give soul music a wider audience and there was nothing like it on TV. Soul Train moved to syndication in 1971 and throughout the years James Brown, Michael Jackson and Aretha Franklin all performed on it. Rosie Perez, Pebbles, Jody Watley, MC Hammer and Nick Cannon all got their start shaking their shit on Soul Train. Soul Train aired over 1,000 episodes and ended in 2006.

Rest in peace, Don. And as Don used to sign off every Soul Train with: “As always in parting, we wish you love, peace and soul!” Don is with the angels now doing THIS:

Well, here's a giant cup of sads that will make you want to grab a bottle of something mind altering and hug your dog friend (if you don't have a dog friend within reach, just cuddle with a cat in a dog costume or bottle of Jack in a dog costume...) under the sheets for the rest of the day. Nick Santino, an actor who was on All My Children and Guiding Light, took the expressway to the heavens by downing a bunch of pills inside of his Upper West Side apartment last week. Nick left a suicide note where he wrote that he just couldn't go on after euthanizing his pit bull Rocco. Nick sent Rocco on a permanent nap, because his apartment building kept pressuring him to get rid of his dog. According to the New York Post, this is a piece of Nick's note:

“Today I betrayed my best friend and put down my best friend. Rocco trusted me and I failed him. He didn’t deserve this."

Nick's problem with the bitches at 1 Lincoln Plaza started last year when they threw down a bunch of strict dog rules including banning all pit bulls. Rocco was a pit bull, so he was automatically a target of the building. The ban didn't affect pit bulls already living in the building, but Nick's friends and neighbors say he was still given shit for having one. Rocco wasn't allowed to ride in the main elevators and he couldn't be left by himself in Nick's apartment for more than 9 hours. One of Nick's neighbors say that she never heard Rocco bark, but somebody still complained about his barking and the building punished Nick with a $200 fine. Another neighbor said that building management harassed and poked at Nick about Rocco for months and months. Rocco's vet told Nick that the pit bull was becoming aggressive and he blamed it on his own depression.

On his 47th birthday last week, Nick decided to say goodbye to Rocco and his dog was put to sleep. Nick called his ex-girlfriend at around 2 the next morning. A few hours later, Nick's body was found in his bedroom by the police. He had overdosed on pills.

Nick's friends say that just like his dog Rocco, his remains will be cremated.

Euthanizing a beloved dog friend you spent almost all your time with will fuck your emotions up and I'm sure Nick's were already raw from his building management turning his home life into a living prison hell. Damn. Living in NYC is no fucking joke. If I would've known, I would've told Nick to come live in my building since dog piss (not from mine, I think) is part of the decor and the sound of a barking ass dog (not mine, okay maybe sometimes) is our official soundtrack.

Robert Hegyes, mostly known for playing Sweathog Epstein on Welcome Back, Kotter, is entertaining the angels with his Chico Marx impersonation this morning, because he passed away of cardiac arrest at a hospital in New Jersey yesterday. Robert was only 60. John Travolta, this is your cue to take that dead papillon off of your head, put on an afro wig and mourn the loss of your TV friend.

Newsday says that Robert was in a bad way for a long time and he was taken to JFK Medical Center in Edison, NJ after he started complaining about chest pains. Those chest pains turned out to be a full cardiac arrest and Robert died at the hospital shortly after.

Robert was born and raised in New Jersey and started his acting career by doing theater in NYC. A quick second later, Robert got cast in Welcome Back, Kotter and the rest is Nick at Nite history! Robert later retired from acting and spent his time teaching and writing screenplays.

Rest in peace, Epstein. Your legacy will live on when the Welcome Back, Kotter movie FINALLY gets made with Phoebe Price in the role of lead extra.

Signed by, Epstein's mother