Mitch Hedberg, Comedian, RIP

Mitch Hedberg was not given the last rites. There will be no vigils, no processions, no elaborate or controversial selection process to find and anoint Mitch Hedberg the second. Mitch Hedberg had no robes or giant hats or decisions to make in regard to world issues. Mitch Hedberg did not have his own city. No one ever asked what he thought of abortion or gay marriage or war or even Like a Prayer. Laura Bush will get no Botox for Mitch Hedberg’s funeral. The President won’t read any statements. But you know what? The Pope, despite helping end communism, despite loving the world’s children, despite traveling via Popemobile, didn’t make me laugh a single time. Mitch Hedberg, on the other hand…I’ve lost count. He had a heart condition, and he did drugs, and in a statement I had to search the internet for, his mom seemed not one bit surprised to have lost him so young. The Pope was big, sure, but he wasn’t funny. Mitch was funny, and that was huge. All due respect to the Pope, but I’ve had a lump in my throat for three days now, and the Pope has barely crossed my mind. I guess I’m shallow. Mitch, a blog is not a eulogy; it’s not a vigil. We never met, but someone’s got to give you respect, and here’s mine. If it’s true that celebrities die in groups, you’re in pretty awesome company, from a comedy standpoint. Imagine the look on the Pope’s face when he sees you rockin’ the aviator shades and 1970s haircut; his new roommate, in a Heaven where laughter equals love, hearts never wear out, the next Lifesaver flavor is always pineapple, and the Pope gets all your jokes. And Mitch, I bet Johnny invites you over to the couch on your very first try.

Listening to: Green Day, American Idiot; Mitch Hedberg, Mitch All Together; Beck, Guero; Le Tigre, TKO (from a Best Buy freebie sampler, over and over)