I don’t claim to know
everything, or anything at all for that matter, about Billy Mays’ personal
life. I never met the man, and to be honest, had I ever seen him coming toward
me I probably would have turned and ran the other way. Not because I thought
he’d be able to convince me to buy whatever product he was hawking that day,
but because I would fear that he was about to eat my soul…after convincing me
to buy whatever product he was hawking that day. His appearance was as frightening as his tongue was slick.
A quick glance at his Wikipedia page informs us that he was born and raised southwestern Pennsylvania, attended West Virginia University (where, by the way, they burn couches after football games; how fucking awesome is that), dropped out to work for his father’s hazardous waste company, and inspired the Sylvester Stallone film Over the Top after defeating a black bear in an arm wrestling contest. I think someone may have made up the part about attending WVU.
Anyway, we all know what he eventually went on to do. I’m sure you’ve seen his work, and through it, you’ve gotten to know him just a little. Sure, you don’t know if he stays seated or stands up to wipe himself after defecating (did you know some people stand up to do it – fucked up, I know), but you have a pretty good sense of the kind of person who he is. He’s certainly the type of person who knows that standing up doesn’t make one bit of sense. Your cheeks are going to come together, and it will have the same effect that constructing a smore too aggressively has; accept there’s no marshmallow in this treat; only shame.
It’s obvious that Billy had a lot of energy, which I’m sure is feeding into these rumors that he spent his nights in drug-induced rages, punching and humping everything in sight. However, if you really watch and think about his performances, his energy is not that of someone who wets their finger and snorts it because they have “bad allergies” in the middle of the winter. His energy –which you can see by the looks on his face – is that of a man who on the outside is saying “Hey, look at me. I have this great product here and it will make your life as fantastic as mine”, but on the inside is saying “I want to die. I just want this to all be over. She just had to have the fake tits, didn’t she?”
To be fair, I don’t know that his wife has ever had breast implants, I’ve never seen her. But, for argument’s sake, if she did, it would take roughly four hundred orders of Oxiclean to pay for them. That’s a lot of yelling and pointing at the camera on his part. If I were him, I would have just had her showing off her new prides and joys as the commercial. That would surely get people to call in. That, of course, is if she has them. I have no idea, but I’m going to make up my own reality in which she does. Not only does she have them, but they are actually filled with Oxiclean, and she can squirt a pre-mixed dosage of it out of her nipples to clean any stain which dare present itself before her.
Also, doing enough coke that it plays a part in your death would take a toll on the outside of your body as well as the inside. He didn’t look sick to me. Did you notice his beard? You’re lying if you say that you didn’t, and you’re now going to Hell. Was it really worth it? His beard was immaculate. It looked soft as velvet, but you know that if you attempted to touch it, your fingers would come back raw – like you had just pet a porcupine, or an 80s porn star’s vagina.
That, my friends, brings me to my point. The 80s were a crazy time for hair, in general, and Billy Mays’ beard would have fit right in. It’s almost as if it does not consist of many small hairs, but instead is one solid entity. No human being can grow that. Billy was human, though, because no alien would stoop to selling anything with “Goo” in the title. They are far too advanced for that. So, what was it?
I am convinced that Billy Mays’ beard was actually a parasitic organism feeding off his life force and using him as a vessel to carry out its own agenda. I’m no scientist, so I can’t tell you what exactly it was, but look at the fucking thing. If you had that on your face, do you think you’d be able to control it? I think not. I would have no idea how to live with that burden, let alone how to stop it. You know who did know? Billy. You know who had to stop him before Billy stopped them? Billy’s beard.
I think that Billy’s dominating spirit won over even the toughest of opponents, and he had figured out a way to rid himself of the beast once and for all. I’m sure he had tried shaving and the blades just sparked along his face until they eventually snapped in half. You could go at that thing with a chainsaw and it would just laugh at you. Even worse, it would be using your face to laugh at you. That is the ultimate in “Why are you hitting yourself” punishment. I think that on top of paying for his wife’s alleged beautiful chest, he was funding secret experiments to learn how to get the beard off of his face, and his efforts proved fruitful. The beard was feeling desperate, and did the only thing it could think to do – snort as much cocaine as beardly possible. Anything the beard ingests, Billy ingests, and sadly, the beard was successful in neutralizing its threat.
This isn’t the first time this happened, either. DJ Drama – a popular hip-hop DJ – was arrested in 2007 on federal racketeering charges after a raid of his Affiliate’s Music Group office. Authorities seized nearly 81,000 illegal “mixtape” CDs. Drama, who is best known for his Gangsta Grillz mixtape series, is also widely-known for having facial hair that strongly resembles blacktop. He has been quoted as saying “I’m so street, I got it on my face.” He may or may not have actually said that. Regardless, do you think anyone would voluntarily make potentially hundreds of thousands of dollars off of illegal album sales on their own free will? I think not. His beard was the culprit.
Remember Christopher Lowell, host of the appropriately titled interior decorating television show, The Christopher Lowell Show? Commonly referred to as the “Godfather of the Gays,” Christopher paved the way for other homosexual television personalities to shine (or should I say twinkle), such as: Carson Kressley, Timothy Gunn, and Nigel Lythgoe – collectively known as “The Tender-Tug Trio.” It’s awfully suspicious that such an effeminate man would have such macho facial hair, isn’t it? Also, his fall came as quick as his rise. Have you heard anything about him lately? I certainly have not, but I can guarantee that if we did, the phrases “stall,” “penis,” “hemorrhaging,” and “strawberry shortcake” would be involved.
Look, I’m not here to scare you. I could even be wrong – it’s happened once before. I just think that there’s a bit of a pattern here, and it’s a concerning one. I fear that two weeks from now, if we exhume Billy’s body, the world would be shocked to see that would be clean shaven. The beard can’t survive on its own, and it won’t stop until it finds a new host. It may return to a place it knows and feels comfortable. I hope that place is not his wife’s chest. What a waste of $4,000 that would be, huh? It would be kind of cool to see a pair of crazed tits running around wreaking havoc, though.I don’t know how to stop it, but we have to do something. It can’t hurt to start preventative measures as early as possible. Mothers, don’t let your babies grow up to be television pitchmen. Or disc jockeys. Or have lisps.