by Adrian Ryan
This whole Bobbi Kristina Brown thing is FREAKING ME THE FREAK OUT, man. (As evinced by my use of the epithet “man,” instead of “‘mo,” or “gaywad,” or something more expected of me, so I’m clearly shaken up. Please hold me!) It’s just surreal.
I’ve met that poor girl – like twenty million years ago when she was but a steaming, placenta-covered, waddling-toddler in diamond-encrusted diapers, but still.
I was about negative 3 years old at the time (if you go by the age on my Grindr profile) and her horrible mother (Whitney Houston, duh) and horrible father (Bobby Brown, duh) and delightful grandma (Bobby’s mom, not Sissy) came to stay at the Benson Hotel in Portland, where I was a very sexy bell boy.
I was given charge of the glamorous, famous, and very rude group (earning myself the Very Sexy Employee of the Year Award, believe it or not), and my goodness! A darling wee thang she was, indeed. Best of the bunch, and not just because she didn’t hit anybody, screech at anybody, trash any rooms, and was pretty much nonverbal. And now here she is… in a coma, expected not to recover.
I knew that somebody found her unconscious in a bathtub somewhere earlier this week – but at that point I stopped reading. I do have an incredible penchant for blindly believing that no one is ever REALLY going to die (abundant evidence to the contrary) and figured blacking out in the tub just ran in the family. There were no silver gravy boats involved, after all, so I just shrugged my freckly shoulders at the irony of it all and forgot about it. But now! The crepe-hanging Twitterverse is flooded with tragic and unignorable tales of the poor girl’s imminent demise. Apparently her brain damage rules out all hope, and Bobby Brown and family have been advised to say their goodbyes.
And the conspiracy theories have already begun! Just this morning on Facebook: “If no one is making connections to how Whitney Houston died and to how her daughter is suffering right now, you’re crazy. Obviously the music industry is murdering her,” writes one concerned paranoiac. Now, 9/11 was an inside job, and the Illuminati is totally real (naturally), but I’m going to need more information on this one…
I never thought I’d feel so awful for Bobby Brown. I urge everyone to hug a famous person’s loved one’s today. You just never know…