Johnny Depp, they say you cannot complete production of the latest instalment of Pirates of the Caribbean (a nation gasps!!) because of an “injured hand”, but we all know the truth – you are dead.

The shock I have experienced upon this startling realization is nothing compared to the news that you have been dead since 2003. I kick myself. How could I have missed this? Although I suspected as much, I never knew for certain; I stopped going to your movies. I did not realize the gravity of the situation.

Friends of mine, and fellow former fans of yours, told me you had passed when I asked what you were up to at a dinner party back in January. What a horrible way to find out! My heart grows heavy; would things have turned out differently if only I had supported you through your troubled times? History suggests otherwise. Voracious, single-minded – you wandered from film to film, a studio zombie in search of sustenance. Jack Sparrow is an albatross dangling from your neck, cursing you to put on silly wigs, outlandish makeup and unfortunate accents for the remainder of your career. You’ve said your Jack Sparrow was inspired by Keith Richards, but I think you were channelling Tomas Milian’s Chaco in Four of the Apocalypse.

Buried under wigs, foundation and frilly frocks, your former self does not seem to have the will power to rise up and join the living. You drank from the same well so often that you can no longer admire your own reflection – all the water is gone. All that’s left at the bottom of the well is dark mud, two crumpled beer cans, and an overly optimistic frog.

You have left us for good. We do not recognize what you have become. Your exclusive island is your final resting place. We fear the machinations that somehow keep you alive. Yet, to be fair, you still fill seats with lazy buttocks belonging to people who don’t know any better. For the rest of us – memories. We loved you in Edward Scissorhands, Ed Wood, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, Donnie Brasco, Blow and the prophetically titled Dead Man. I don’t know if I can find the strength to draw parallels between the title of your latest opus – Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Men Tell No Tales – and your career trajectory. I’ll leave that to those with stronger constitutions and blood full of irony. For my part, I’m not going to be a cry-baby anymore; I’ll just carry on with my Arizona dream.



I have a feeling this is going to return Johnny to greatness:


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