An Ode to Billy Mays: A FWTC Tribute
I sat down in my office with my traditional bowl of Frosted Flakes and fortified wine. What? Shut the hell up! Have you tried it? Besides, it was after noon. 12:03 PM is after noon.
It is my Sunday morning tradition; wake up, make myself a complete breakfast, and sit down in front of the computer reading the news.
Somehow, accidentally, the Associated Press page opened a new tab. This was purely accidental, since I believe the AP to be a demonic institution that pushes their own agenda. And that agenda? Making it hard as hell to maneuver their ridiculously structured website. Seriously, you would expect the Associated Press’ homepage to have an abundance of news stories. Instead, it’s a ton of self serving crap about the AP. For people like me, I need it to be painfully obvious where the headline are. I don’t have time to search or find the correct website.
OK, ignore everything I’ve said until now. A national… no.. INTERNATIONAL tragedy has happened the morning of June 28, 2009. Once I read it, all I could do was stare blankly into space. You know it. You know exactly what I’m talking about. The one, the only, the MIGHTY Billy Mays has shuffled off this mortal coil. No one really knows how it happened. According to the news, nothing has been verified, except for a tenuous connection between a rough US Air landing and Mr. Mays being hit on the head with falling debris. But, screw the media. Mr. Mays tells us all on his Twitter page.
Our great leader has fallen. And even if the bad landing is proven not to have anything to do with Mr. Mays’ untimely death, US Air is pretty much going to be known as the air carrier that took Billy Mays down. You fuckers! We, at the FWTC, are in mourning. No longer will be know what products will remove the tarnish from a medieval sword. How will we be able to choose a cleaner that will whiten our whites? What are we supposed to do when looking for a grass product that will make us want to roll around on our front lawns in total ecstasy? Our world no longer make sense!
At 4:17, Mr. Mays brings sexy back. Damned if we’re not convinced! We have six crates of this stuff in storage.
Alright, the week of June 21, 2009 has been a bitch for B list, has been, and just plain batshit insane celebrities. But, as anyone who believes the “they always come in threes” theory can tell you, we’ve already sacrificed our three. Ed McMahon was old. Farah Fawcett was mercifully released from her struggle with cancer, and Michael Jackson… fuck it, he was a walking tool box of manchild-ness and, all but proven, pedophilia. Thriller is no more. That Michael Jackson died two decades ago. The one that died in LA last week was a pile of crazy that neither mentally or physically resembled our 80s pop star. He needed bucket loads of psychological help and to be locked behind closed doors for the safety of children everywhere. Get the fuck over it!
Picture 2: HOLY SHIT!
Even now, shitty self important newspapers all over the country would give themselves gravel enemas just for the chance to write some vomit heaving one liners about Mr. Mays in their ever shrinking print media empire. Fact has nothing to do with a popular figure dying. Fuck no! The first thing they teach you in Media Bung Hole 101 is to take a serious topic (A father who died in his sleep, entertained millions, worked hard to provide for his family) and omit 99% of the details. Then, craft a completely infuriating joke headline from a pseudo captain of the press.
Like the LA Times and there sensitive headline of: But Wait! There’s No More! Yeah. That’s funny you fuckers. HAW HAW. I think I just wet myself. No, fuck sticks, you’ve essentially mocked the man’s death THE DAY HE DIED with your bullshit yuk yuks.
What’s not to miss? The powerful, upbeat voice, the jovial personality, the mightiness of his magnificent beard. I’m sorry, Chuck Norris, we have to award Billy Mays the “Most Awesomingly Mighty Beard on the Planet” award; even if posthumously.
His empire of direct sell television products was just the tip of the Orange Glo iceberg. Mr. Mays took it to the next level. He and Anthony Sullivan launched a show on the Discovery Channel called Pitchmen. Stay with me here. When I first heard of it, I thought it was some unholy America’s Got Talent meets America’s Next Top Model hybrid. However, I stumbled upon the show late one night recovering from… a cold.
It was awesome! Immediately my preconceived notions vanished not unlike shower tile mildew after being decimated by KABOOM. It was more than a shitty reality show. It showed the intricate behind the scenes workings of what we, as a nation, just think of as late night television filler. The show is like being smacked in the face with a fish (in a good way).
More goes into the Direct Response Marketing business than I initially realized. Sure, most of us figured all they really do is point a camera, press record, and film Mr. Mays shouting the product’s praises. Wrong! Tons of hours are put into pre-production, filming, post-production….. the amount of time they have to spend wading through douche bag after douche bag is a gigantic shit storm in it’s own right. Most of the “innovative” products being pitched are just plain ‘ol retarded. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but this country is full of people nuttier than a gross of shithouse rats.
To their credit, Mr. Mays and Sully give it their all in ensuring that they beat the shit out of every possible angle to attempt to make a product successful. Even if it’s goofier than originally thought.
Mr. Mays was a Renaissance man. His blue shirt and khakis will forever stand as a symbol of in your face pitching. In fact, FWTC is officially retiring the blue button up work shirt and khakis ensemble. No one can wear them. Ever! So help me God, if I see some son of a bitch out there trying to sling shitty products wearing the Billy Mays uniform….
What do we do now? Where do we go from here? My friends, I don’t know. What kind of cruel world would take the Roman god of pitchmen and leave us with Vince Schlomi? It’s not right! It’s not fair!
We need to mourn. Only time will help. I don’t think it’s too outrageous to make leather bracelets with WWBMD etched on them. I just put in a nomination to the Vatican to canonize Mr. Mays. That’s how it works, right?
Songs will be sung and stories told. No doubt, a shit ton of tee shirts and other novelties will be manufactured for a grief stricken and gullible public. Yea, I’ll buy my fair share. What can I do? I’m powerless to resist collecting memorabilia of our fallen hero. From what I hear, poems about the Great and Powerful Billy Mays are being written as we speak. OK, that link leads to a Walt Whitman poem about the death of Lincoln. But, shit, it can mean two things! The similarities between Lincoln and Mr. Mays are staggering. Don’t believe me? Shut up!
We will never be able to fill the void left by Mr. Mays. Surely when our species is long dead, our great monuments crumbling; the only record of our existence will be that of one Billy Mays. A visiting alien race will uncover archaeological evidence of Mr. Mays and his many miracles. They will be forced to conclude that Earth was ruled by a great, bearded warrior wielding the might of his arsenal of cleaning and fix-it products. It will start a revolution. A spiritual revival, if you will. Eventually, that alien race will adopt Mays-ism as their religion. Churches will be built and monuments dedicated to Mighty Putty will be carved out of stone. Entire church services will be dedicated to the book of Mighty Mendit. Can you see it?
A reading from book of Anthony Sullivan:
“Let not your laundry be dingy and yellow. Let not your bathrooms be smelly and stale. Thou shall embrace the teachings of the Mighty Billy Mays and thou shall benefit from his glory. Yey, as I walk through the valley of death, I shall fear no foot discomfort. For the protection of the divine Impact Gel will protect my feet.“
Then, the Church will have to clean house once they discover a small sect of Schlomi-ists. Nobody expects the Billy Mays Inquisition!
We’re still reeling from this sudden and stomach punching loss. The episode of Pitchmen on my DVR will never be deleted. As soon as the full season is available, I shall purchase it and place the commemorative box in a place of honor. I shall pay homage to it every morning and every night. There’s a national holiday in this, somewhere. I’m just not sure where yet.
And now, I will leave you to mourn in your own, solemn way. Rest assure that the world shares your pain, as you will see in this tribute video on YouTube set to “Dust in the Wind”. Thank you Darkmatter28031. May the Mays be with you.
But wait… there’s more, Mr. Mays. There will always be more.