It seems like just yesterday that I lamented the loss of my beloved Bea Arthur by wishing that the Gods had robbed us of the occasionally insufferable Blanche Devereaux (aka Rue McClanahan) instead.
Well, now they did, and I feel no better for it.
Rue McClanahan, you may have been my least favorite Golden Girl, but that distinction still entitles you to a place in my heart alongside my least intoxicating cherished childhood memory, my least enjoyable winning lottery ticket, and my least favorite ice cream topping to smear on my genitals. That's select company, Rue, and you absolutely deserve it.
So spread your wings and fly away, Blanche Devereaux, and here's hoping that the afterlife is filled with enough floppy old man parts to sate your character's positively horrifying elderly sexual appetites.
Also, here's hoping that God rethinks the whole "floppy old man parts" thing before I die. The last thing I need is an afterlife that feels like an afternoon at Bally Total Fitness.