Joan Rivers is dead, and I am absolutely devastated.
This is something that I’m somewhat embarrassed about because it doesn’t make all that much logical sense.
It’s not like I knew her, or was ever in her presence — save the time I saw her throw it down during her “Can We Talk” phase circa 1982, when she gave everyone from Liz Taylor to Heidi Abromowitz (the tramp and “poster girl for herpes”) a kick in the ass with her heavy-duty silver-tipped tongue.
I have to admit she lost me somewhat in her fashionista stage of recent years. With all due respect to her QVC line — which in my opinion was amazing for business savvy of it, not so much the style — to Fashion Police, I rarely tuned in. Then again, when I did, the zingers were just as stunning as always (i.e., on Rihanna: “Why the green lips? It looks like she just [bleep] the Grinch. Talk about Christmas coming early.” And my personal favorite in recent history, on Lea Michele at the Teen Choice Awards: “She looks like a porn star. You know the kind of porn stars who aren’t the prettiest, so they do crazy stuff like amputee gang bangs?”).