Rebecca Black’s “Friday” music video was removed from YouTube yesterday after nine separate cases of suicide were reported. The suicides, while still under investigation, have all been linked to one thing: each person had been watching and listening to the Rebecca Black “Friday” music video. The string of what is now being called the “Rebecca Black suicides” has occurred within the last 72 hours.
Read the original Rebecca Black Suicides report
So far, only one psychologist has been brave enough to issue any kind of statement on this sensitive subject about the world’s beloved young pop star, Rebecca Black:
Famous retired psychologist, Hubert Humdinger (pronounced hum-din-jer), said this is not an uncommon phenomenon. “People have long been killing themselves over songs or certain types of art. Sometimes there is a pulse. Sometimes there is a feeling somewhere in the body that freezes the human. So the human’s brain is practically screaming to turn off the song, or stop looking at the painting, but the body refuses to look away, or to stop listening. I think this song by this young Rebecca Black is just such a song. It is demonic. It refuses to be shut off. It should be banned.”
I was walking along Melrose with my good friend and homeless Los Angeles bum, Johnny. Johnny is the bum featured in the article The LA Weekly Makes Great Toilet Paper & Is Also a Pretty Good Read. He’s also featured in Even Mitt Romney is Unemployed, You Bum!
Apparently two people held hands and jumped from their apartment building, I told him. They were listening to Rebecca Black’s song “Friday” and watching the video on YouTube, and then, according to the LAPD, the couple had an overwhelming urge to jump from their window. And it was high enough to kill them.
“Why didn’t they just turn it off?” Johnny asked. “And where was this?”
Just up here, I said, pointing. Pretty much at Cahuenga and Waring.
“Whoo-ee, oh my, goodness, gracious,” Johnny said.
And there have been seven other cases, that I know of and read about, that bear a striking resemblance to this one. Everybody’s calling it the “Rebecca Black Suicides”.
“I’m sure she and her publicity agent ain’t happy about that.”
I’m sure not, I sad. Hey! Let’s check this dumpster for sandwiches. This deli is good, and I know they must dump sandwiches every half hour as part of their pledge to constant freshness.
“I thought you said you were going to buy us lunch today.”
Can’t do it. Not today. I’m trying to live like a homeless today, I said. I’m trying to get down and dirty like Rebecca Black. It’s Friday, after all. See over there? I asked him. I pointed to the end of the street. See the police tape? That’s where the couple jumped. Ugly scene. Brutal. With that goddamned Friday song blasting out their windows and everybody looking at the broken couple spread out on the sidewalk.
“We aren’t going to commit suicide, are we?” Johnny has a keen sense of humor. He picked through the dumpster’s trash looking for gourmet sandwiches.
Find me a vegan one, I said. And no, we aren’t going to kill ourselves today. Dragon tattoo girl wouldn’t allow it. She thinks I’m recovering finally. My death would be a huge blow to her own mental repair, I said.
Girl with a dragon tattoo professes love for Stieg Larsson while at a Goodwill store
Johnny’s arm was elbow deep into the waste. “I think I found something,” he said. “You know, you might get sued by the Stieg Larsson estate if you keep calling that girl the girl with the dragon tattoo.”
This angered me. I beat Johnny’s head and shoulders and then I slapped his ass as hard as I could. Johnny doesn’t feel pain, so it’s all right. There’s no trouble there. You bastard! I shouted. How dare you try to jinx a good thing I have going with another long haired blonde. I can’t help it if she has a dragon tattoo. At least she’s not suicidal like those Rebecca Black fiends.
Johnny found two sandwiches. One vegan. One ham and mustard. The vegan sandwich was missing two bites, but it had been properly re-wrapped. Thank you kindly, I said to Johnny. We walked to the California DMV on Waring and sat with the other down-and-out folks.
Johnny shared his sandwich with a homeless man whose face reminded me of a goldfish’s face. “This is the cool spot to eat a sandwich,” Johnny said, and maybe ask a few folks for change. “That is, if you can find a sandwich.”
We did good today, I said. I’m good luck. If we can find nearly perfect gourmet sandwiches in a dumpster off of Melrose, then there is no reason for Rebecca Black “Friday” fiends to kill themselves, I said.
The Goldfish Bum nodded, but only after Johnny did.
