What a bad week for the 1980s. Ed McMahon? Farrah Fawcett? Michael Jackson?? And speaking of Michael Jackson, his death has been giving me some weird childhood time warps. I've probably have heard the song Thriller more times in the last 24 hours than I have in the last decade. Thriller at the nail salon. Thriller blasting from cars with their windows down. Thriller at the gym. Suddenly it's 1984 all over again and I'm five years old, trembling from the scariness of Vincent Price's monologue at the end of the song.
So RIP, 1980s. I'm officially old. If Mr. T dies, then I don't know what I'll do.
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1 comment:
Oh, Lawd, not Mr. T!
To this day Vincent Price's voice on Thriller makes me get goosebumps.
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