The world of terrible celebrity DJs was rocked on Friday when the lifeless corpse of Adam Goldstein, aka DJ AM, was found dead in his New York apartment, surrounded by drug paraphernalia. Can I share some real talk with you? If you survived a Goddamned plane crash that by all rights should have killed you, don’t do drugs. Didn’t you see any of the Final Destination movies? You don’t get to cheat death twice. And what the hell do you have to do drugs for? You make thousands of dollars spinning awful techno and Kid Rock jams to idiots who think a “celebrity DJ” is a real job. You got to sleep with Mandy Moore, for God’s sake! I’d live for a hundred years just to catch a glimpse of her inner thigh. And you know what’s the worst thing about this? The world found out about it on Shanna Moakler’s Twitter. How awful is that? In olden times, your death would be announced by your community’s minister in hushed, respectful tones. Instead, DJ AM gets his last moments put out unto the world by a talentless tanorexic who’s only famous for reality show marrying the second stupidest guy in Blink 182. As if being dead wasn’t bad enough.
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