Richard Pryor is dead. As my three faithful readers may recall from my recent cathartic, and catastrophic, trip to the National Multiple Sclerosis Society's conference in Atlanta last month, Richard Pryor was one of our more famous club members. Died of a heart attack, wife says he died with a smile on his face. No shit, he was glad to be done with the "More Shit."
He was in a wheelchair, and there was a report earlier this year that he had lost his voice to MS. Apparently he was in a few movies after his diagnosis, and even tried stand-up again; standing and speaking clearly were problematic.
Google is burning up with posts and articles about his growing up the son of a prostitute, the ex-wives, the drugs, the personal barbeque. For him, that may have been the chicken before the egg. For the rest of us with MS, there is a higher rate of divorce, depression, severe financial hardship, moldy socks and time spent with our hands in our pants.
For the first couple of years, I treated MS as one of the best things that evern happened to me. Tested my character, gave me perspective, forced me to really start looking at priorities, a real 7 Habits of Succesful MS Tards kind of groove. In the last few weeks, and for the first time, I have been bitter, angry, about MS. It is starting to limit some life options, at a time when everything needs to be back on the table.
No More Shit Mr. Pryor, rest easy now. Thanks for the laughs and... Formerl... fuck it. Bye.
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