Much like the recent drug-induced death of Glee star Corey Monteith, the news of the death of Hollywood heavyweight Philip Seymour Hoffman is literally everywhere.
And as everyone already knows, it wasn’t just your standard heroin overdose … oh no, his corpse was found with the needle still sticking out of his arm, all the while small bags of heroine were strewn about both hither and yon.
Like most everyone else, I don’t want to see anyone die, but damn it, I’ll carefully discern who gets any sympathy from me – and I expect the same in return.
Maybe this makes me a bad person, but I’ll reserve my sympathy for the family of a Border Patrol Agent either gunned down or tortured to death by Mexican drug lords; or for the family of a child in South Central or East Los Angeles who was caught in the cross fire of the never ending turf war between drug money-fed street gangs; or for the old man who was shot in his own home by some drug-fueled punk robbing him just so there would be enough money for the next high.
Nope — I refuse to have an iota of sympathy for the selfish Hollywood hypocrites. Why in the hell is the death of some celebrity deemed “breaking news”?
No, they made their choices in life. If their choice is to pump poison into their own bodies, hey — have a ball, I honestly don’t care.
But if their life choices finances drug cartels, narco-terrorists, street gangs, etc, etc, ad nauseum, that’s where I draw the line.
Especially when the likes of the late Mr. P.S. Hoffman jumps on the anti-gun bandwagon.
Seriously? Philip Seymour Johnson pumps thousands and thousands and thousands of dollars into the coffers of drug empires, but has the audacity to try and takeaway the right of honest, decent Americans to defend themselves and their homes?