Lana Clarkson, Rest in Power
I didn't give a shit about the Orenthal James or Robert Blake murder trials. But a few years back, I went over to the apartment of two friends who are brothers. "How ya doin'?" I asked. "Pretty fucking shitty. Phil Spector just killed my sister," one answered about the beautiful and beloved working actress Lana Clarkson.
Over the next years, I watched my friends twist through the hell of their tragic loss, while the defense, and sometimes the media, attempted to erroneously smear their sister's good reputation, laying insult icing on the injury cake. The same one who broke the news to me was convinced Spector would walk freely, aided by a fat bank account and high connections. His fears almost came true when a jury deadlocked last year.
Despite a passionate belief in fair trials, I had always held out hope that this creepy Spector specter, long marked with a reputation for bashing, torturing, kidnapping, and raping women, plus pulling guns on everyone from The Beatles to The Ramones, would finally meet justice. I am happy to celebrate the news that this hideous freak has been found guilty by a jury of his less freaky peers and will be forced to get off of whatever drugs he is on while in the custody of the same company that runs the post office. May his fate be an example to anyone looking to treat our sisters as if they were disposable playthings and Black Dahlias.
Our love goes to Lana and her family.
