Suburban Train Crash Victim: Not GRATEFUL he's DEAD - but he had "CLARITY"

The odds are much less than 8 million to 1 that every day New York City will be the scene of a horrible and violent incident.

Today, edging out "lunatic black guy slashes three people in the face on the subway," was the Hudson Metro commuter train that smashed into a Mercedes SUV (ie, GIANT RICH PERSON'S CAR).

The woman in the car was killed. Her car's gasoline tank exploded, and as the fire extended into the first car of the train, at least five people failed to make it to the exits and were charred "beyond recognition."

These were all affluent upper-class people. They could afford to spend a fucking fortune on train (not subway) travel just to get into Manhattan and back to expensive housing in Scarsdale or Chappaqua (home to Hillary and Bill Clinton).

So far, only two of the five bodies have been identified. One of them was a 69 year-old curator of European paintings at the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

This guy named Liedtke had a dream job, huh? He spent his time examining and enjoying Dutch and Flemish masterworks, and more, and presumably had a private and quiet office.

The other guy? He was a rich drone in the business world. Which isn't to say he didn't deserve to live. He made his choice years ago, to be one of those guys who'd spend all day being a stockbroker or mutual fund creep or Hedge Fund weasel or corporate lawyer, and use his weekends for racing a polluting speedboat or hiring hookers or getting front row tickets for BROOOOSE.

In this guy's case, his "passion" was...THE GRATEFUL DEAD.

Now, I am not so heartless as to not feel badly for the guy. But if mortality is supposed to tell you something, then maybe you'll learn something from what was said about him.

Here's a guy who spent nearly 30 fucking years being one of those empty suits. THIRTY fucking years commuting into a shitty office to be overpaid (compared to tellers, teaches, and others) at some nefariously "normal" job that involved financial shenannigans.

Now he's dead. Did he have somebody to tell reporters he was a loving son or Dad? That what really mattered was that he was a good neighbor? That he gave to charity? That he helped others and joked around the office? That he always had time to address the office janitor by name and wish him good night when he left? That he used his spare time wisely and made a difference to others?

All they found was a pal who mourned that the dead man was....a HUGE fan of the GRATEFUL DEAD.

Yes, Mr. Municipal Fund used his vast disposable income from being a rich pencil-pusher to...you guessed it...follow the fucking GRATEFUL DEAD wherever they played.

What, THE GRATEFUL DEAD are doing a gig in Chicago this weekend? NO PROBLEM-O. I'LL FLY OUT AND SEE THE SHOW WITH YA! (Then go back to work weaseling numbers and doing deals).

But this guy was not JUST a GRATEFUL DEAD fan, man. He really loved the group. He had "CLARITY."

Shit, if there's any term that applies to the state of mind of a fucking GRATEFUL DEAD fan (who can stand mind-numbing jams for hours and hours, and who thinks fat slob Jerry Garcia is GOD, and who wastes thousands of dollar traveling to the shows), it's "CLARITY."

What have we learned? That life is pretty meaningless when your obit is about how you were a rich sap who traveled the world to see THE GRATEFUL DEAD, and who apparently did little but talk Garcia to like-minded saps on the Internet.

JESUS FUCKING CHRIST.

Is that pathetic?

Stop and smell the roses and, more importantly, stop and think what could be said about you if you suddenly get incinerated in a fucking train accident. Is the best anyone can come up with that you were a GRATEFUL DEAD fan?????????????????

Bear in mind, of the three bodies identified, one was praised as the curator of fine art at the Met. The idiot woman who raced across the train tracks and got stuck was likewise praised: "She had a heart of gold. She really looked for the best in everybody. She was the most positive, wonderful person -- a beautiful mother (to three children)," a friend was quoted as saying.

She worked at a jewelry store instantly identified as "a favorite of Bill and Hillary Clinton." An employee said, "she worked here for 10 years and she was invaluable to us all...Ellen (Brody) was a bookkeeper and sales associate. She was a lover of people and of life. She had a heart of gold. She always tried to bring out the best in people. She would try to find the most positive element in people."

Nice, right?

Meanwhile THIS guy is remembered for having "clarity" in going to Grateful Dead concerts.

Whoooahh, man. That's gotta be an epitaph to be proud of, huh?

I guess you know what will happen at the funeral. A bunch of secret stoners, all in starched white shirts, with knotted neckties and expensive black suit jackets and pants, sit around the casket containing the scorched remains of this train accident victim...and spontaneously start singing: "Drivin' that train...high on cocaine...Casey Jones you'd better watch your speed..."