WHERE HAVE ALL THE LUNATICS GONE?



Sure, the footage of Britney Spears losing her mind in public has been televised throughout the world until it has lost all meaning. But for the most part, it strikes me that famous people nowadays are pretty damn boring. I don't trust any of these pasty, suburban-fed dewey-eyed folk to lead us, the willing public, down a two-lane highway of bizarre murder and drunken, opium laced insanity. Amy Winehouse aside, when's the last time an up-and-coming young starlet has drunk a bottle of Draino while blown out of her mind on coke, only to scale the side of the posh hotel she's staying in, wearing a makeshift cape, screaming that she will drop bombs on the crowd of enamored fans below? And when is John Mayer going to behead his aunt with a James Taylor "Sweet Baby James" LP and, high on PCP, shirtless, and soaked in blood, try evading the police in the nearest golf cart, blasting a 12-gauge shotgun in the air and laughing hysterically?

Cases like Britney Spears are a depressing, "Gee Whiz" sort of crazy, which is not fun in the least. It's the kind that evokes pity, makes you wonder what went wrong, and contains not an ounce of awe or fist pumping excitement. I'm talking full-blown, balls-in-the-wind-satan-be-damned shenanegans.

Take Jerry Lee Lewis, who shot out the floor of the hotel room above him with a shotgun while drunk. DRUNK! That's regular people drugs!

Or the brazen ballsiness of Lee Marvin or Yul Brenner- Yul Brenner who had the forethought to make an anti smoking PSA BEFORE HE EVEN DIED! AND HE'S SMOKING WHILE HE'S DOING IT! That's exciting crazy.

Or what about Klaus Kinski? If that guy just walked to the corner Citgo station to buy a grape soda he probably did something unstable

Now don't get me wrong- in recent memory we've been privy to perhaps the most famous case of public insanity, the OJ Simpson murders, not to mention Mike Tyson's various forays into pushing people down the stairs and facial tattooing, the continual downward spiral that is Michael Jackson, or...uh.. Gary Busey.

But where are all the young up-and-coming crack pots of the future? I find it hard to imagine one of the kids from My Chemical Romance just sauntering up to a cop and peeing on his shoes while humming "The Battle Hymn of the Republic." The general malaise and non-chalance baked into the up-and-coming generation leaves us with a celebrity base that is about as interesting as room-temperature bath water (not to mention much of the general population.)

Maybe it's reality TV. Sure, it's blamed for just about every vacant, emotionless span of loud nothingness that now passes for entertainment, but think about it- nightly on hundreds of different channels there are every day weirdos and psychopaths skwabling about who forgot to put the cap on the toothpaste being broadcast into our homes, but pardon me if I see that as a bit of a cop out. Every day crazy isn't interesting. It's annoying. It's what I'm faced with every time I board a city bus.

But famous crazy is special. And famous crackpots of years gone by knew how to be famous. OJ Simpson proved that if you're famous enough, you can indeed get away with murder.

I say, use that fame: Do whatever the hell you want because, God dammit- you're famous! You play on TV! Go ahead and take a dump right in the middle of that posh crowded restaurant! Pick up that old lady's lap dog and chuck it into the river while screaming at the top of your lungs and wearing only uncomfortably tight briefs and a top hat covered in feathers!You're FAMOUS! But you won't necessarily be famous forever unless you make it happen- put it to work for you; make sure you're famous FOREVER! It's worth posting bail, and you'll be buried in job offers once you get out of your holding cell anyway.

C'mon- your public is waiting...