Two down, one to go. Yuck. Morbid. Dennis Hopper, who has always played into my idea that good acting means excessive yelling and wild hand gestures (no, seriously, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Part 2 is pretty much one of the best flicks ever), has succumbed to prostate cancer. As a great admirer of Mr. Hopper’s work, I’m less perturbed by his actual death than the fact that he was still married to psycho bitch Victoria Duffy.
After fourteen seemingly blissful years of marriage (I mean, who wouldn’t want to shack up with the guy from Hoosiers?), Hopper filed for divorce from Duffy citing that she was insane and stealing millions of dollars of art from him. Bitch! Homeboy is diagnosed with advanced prostate cancer and you’re spending your time janking his art collection? Take lessons in class from Lisa Niemi, who was the picture of fragility and strength when Patrick Swayze was dying. Oh, wait. You can’t. Your husband’s dead and you probably caused it.
Unfortunately, it looks like Duffy will be collecting some serious life insurance as his policy was not able to be changed in a hearing last month. At least I have something to hate more than Heather Mills and her prosthetic leg. Rest in peace, Easy Rider.
Tags: deaths, dennis hopper
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