Note: Originally posted on "Idiot Fondue".
This just in from left-field:
Dr. Brian, did Mikey really die from eating exploding pop rocks?
And Dr. Brian responds:
Well then, this is going to be a treat.
First, why would you even care about the answer to this question? Judging by the finger-paint smears on the torn sheet from your Big Chief tablet where you scribbled this question, you can't possibly have achieved puberty. The Mikey incident you reference occurred over 30 years ago. There is no way you could have a personal interest in Mikey or his passing. You are a rude little child with no manners.
Obviously, your parents are to blame. By calculating the angle and degree of finger-paint splatter on your "submission form" (yes, you irritating urchin, watching "CSI" can be useful, perhaps you should try it, if only to learn how you might die), it is apparent that there was no supervision during the painting session. My analysis indicates that gallons of said finger-paint were violated by your actions. Did you perhaps BATHE in the chalky fluid? Or is it that you have no motor skills whatsoever?
A good parent would never allow this unruliness. Proper parenting dictates that, should a child dare to exhibit artistic tendencies, there are strict guidelines which must be followed to avoid terror and heartbreak. As we all know, "artistes" are really just budding sociopaths teetering toward a life of alcohol and crime. Strident measures must be taken to prevent your little Picasso from one day going on a murderous rampage at the Piggly Wiggly. Clearly, the parents in this scenario did not follow the manual.
So we've settled that. Your parents suck.
But alas, as a proper physician for the neurotic and generally boring, I feel I must address your actual question, if only for legal reasons. Yes, Mikey did indeed breathe his last after ingesting chemically-treated sugar. These things happen, especially in the wanton days of the 70's when peanut farmers could become President. And people in synthetic leisure suits were running rampant, what with the gold chains and all. It was a terrible time. How this nation survived, I do not know.
But you, young artiste with your useless questions, do not have to suffer the same fate as a certain spoiled youngster who managed to look cute whilst consuming mass-produced cereal. You can rise above the evil sirens of bohemia, taunting you with their beckoning calls to stray down the rotted path of poetic license. Put down the finger-paints, you warped and miserable child, and seek refuge in the mundane platitudes of normalcy. And avoid sugar at all costs.
Best of luck,
Dr. Brian
P.S. Please return the paperweight you surreptitiously snatched from my desk. There was no door prize in our session. Thank you.
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