Cliff Is Dead -- The Birth of Another Half-Assed Humor Column

And now for something completely stupid …

As a person who has spent nearly his entire post-college career in the public relations field, you would think I could come up with a more grandiose scheme for launching my new column. Well, you could think that, but you would be wrong. I mean, really, what were you expecting? A Super Bowl ad? Hell, I can’t even afford a drum, let alone a drum roll.

No, this is as good as it gets folks. Ring the bell. Blow the whistle. Shred some paper, throw it in the air, spank my ass and call it a party. A star is born. And just like any other star, this one is filled with a lot of hot gas, and don’t be surprised if it burns out just as fast.

In the meantime, let’s get right down to business. Courtney S. of Kearney, Nebraska writes:

“Uncle David, if you get big and famous as a result of this column, could you introduce me to Carson Daly?”

“Actually, Courtney honey, I’m afraid I’m in the middle of the column right now. But now that you mention it, I’d like to think I’m already famous enough to introduce you to Carson Daly. Wouldn’t you rather meet Christina Aguilera or Pink? I know I would … but I digress. Do you have a question about the column?”

“Oh yeah. Ummm, why did you name the column Cliff is Dead? That sounds really dumb.”

Fair question. And I must admit, I can’t walk down the street these days without someone asking the same thing. Without getting too political, the story goes like this:

Once upon a time, there was a man named Cliff Burton. He lived in San Francisco with his good friend Jim Martin. Cliff had long hair and played the bass guitar. And when he played that bass, he would swing his hair around wildly. In short, he rocked.

In 1982, he joined a band called Metallica. They, too, rocked. However, in 1987, the band’s tour bus hit a patch of ice in Sweden. The bus tipped, Cliff flew out of the window and he was smooshed by the bus. Poor Cliff – he was dead.

Soon after, the remaining band members hired Jason Newkid to replace Cliff, and they subsequently change the name of the band to Metallikinda. By this time, the band had grown weary of trivial things like creativity and artistic integrity. So, they decided to kneel at the corporate rock altar and do the things that people do when they kneel at the corporate altar.

As a result, they became big and famous and somehow found their way onto VH1’s popular “Behind the Music” series. Heck, you can’t go anywhere these days without hearing the band’s Danish hobbit drummer bark about this lawsuit and that lawsuit and … back to the story …

Looking down from heaven, Cliff smiled because he was happy that his Metallica friends now had enough money to buy lunch and Christmas gifts for their families. But there was also great sadness in his heart, for he knew he would never have been a part of their success. You see, children, Cliff represented all that was pure and genuine about Metallica. When he died, he took those attributes with him.

Today, the trend is not limited to Metallikinda. No, entertainers and businesses alike seem to brake for no one. The gods of commercialism and corporate sponsorships have taken over our college bowl games. They have invaded our ballparks, pillaged our entertainment venues and renamed our favorite ski runs. Poor Cliff – he is still dead, and he can do nothing to stop the machine.

Alas, I am but a modest lad with humble means. So, partly as a tribute to Cliff and partly as a reminder that our world has lost its sense of integrity, I decided to name the column “Cliff is Dead.”

“So you see, Courtney, the name really does have significant meaning. You understand, don’t you?”

“Sure, but it’s still dumb.”