Memories of (Fat) Elvis

Controversial statement: I like so-called “Fat Elvis” better than “Young, Not Addicted to Pain-Killer Elvis.” Fat Elvis had a better wardrobe, had more of a flair for the dramatic, and hung out with cooler people. Sure, he was full of himself (literally) and a bit paranoid, but Fat Elvis was cool. Actually, I feel really bad for Elvis, fat and thin. He was a prisoner of fame and success. Other than Jesus, I can’t think of a single person more famous than Elvis. Can you imagine what that must of felt like? I can’t.

One of the last vacations my family took was to Graceland. It was so surreal and sad. I can still see the big metal gates of his estate. They weren’t just keeping people out, they were keeping him in. Having one’s home turned into a museum is the very definition of success, right? I mean, there’s an entire cottage industry based on showing slack-jawed yokels (such as yours truly) the home of a dead rock-star. What must it be like to literally create a vast economy? One that supports hundreds of people long after you are dead?

Fat Elvis meets the Devil.

Elvis was more than a man–he was a God. And he had the problems of a God.  I hope that wherever he is now, he has some peace.

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