Roy Scheider died yesterday. The 75-year-old “French Connection” star was found mysteriously gobbled to bits outside a Hillary Clinton fundraiser.

Chess master and world-class asshole Bobby Fischer is dead. He may have been the best chess player of all time, but saying that 9/11 was “wonderful news” and that someone should execute “hundreds of thousands of American Jewish leaders” earns him the people suck tag. Barry Bonds, this is what you have to look forward to.

No, really.

Scott sent this news this morning: Ann Arbor legend Shakey Jake passed away over the weekend. He may not have had more than two strings on his guitar, and the degree to which he was “with it” was always questionable, but he gave the town some character, something it desperately needs these days.

Sorry to be the last one to the party, but I just lost an hour hunting all this stuff down: Terrorifying, sad hipster fable about losing your shit, lieing your way up, and spending too much time online.

Launched on quest via Stereogum post.

PS -Apparently related nutsos?

Yesterday turned out to be a pretty sad day for legendary European filmmakers. Italian director Michelangelo Antonioni passed away hot on the heels of Ingmar Bergman. If it’s true that these things come in threes, Godard better watch out.

Swedish Film Legend Day rolls on with a somber bit of news: Director Ingmar Bergman inevitably lost his chess match with Death. I had to write something like 14 papers on Bergman in college, so whether I wanted to or not, I got to know his work pretty well. Most of the time he made me terribly depressed, but occasionally he offered a beautiful glimmer of hope. Even though I walked away from most of his films wanting to curl up and die, I’d still argue that Bergman was the greatest director in cinema history. I wouldn’t have Woody without Ingmar.

I don’t advocate violence in any form, and I would never wish physical harm on anyone. Whatever war is out there, I’m against it. I’m a pretty easygoing and gentle kinda guy, and it takes a lot to get on my bad side. For me to write you off, you must have fucked up somethin’ awful. As a matter of full disclosure, let me say that I’m as capable of intense dislike — I wouldn’t go so far as hate — as any other reasonable person on this planet. Still, whatever a person does, I’d never advocate violence against him or her as a matter of principle. So about the worst you’ll get from me is a spot on my unofficial list of people I’d never kill but wouldn’t be at all upset to learn that they died.

I bet you’d be upset with all that buildup if no one died, but happily (?) one of my least favorite people in the world did. The Rev. Jerry Falwell, him of the-purple-teletubby-is-gay and 9/11-was-caused-by-the-ACLU-and-International-Faggotry fame, is dead at the age of 73. Quoting my friend Eric, “Sadly, he died in his office, not in the company of a male prostitute.” And our colleague A.: “He was just an old man with a bad heart. Pun intended.”

I could go on for pages listing the awful things this douche said when he was alive, but if you follow the news in the slightest you already know enough. My overall beef with him is that he thought he could get away with peddling the vilest filth and hatred, so long as it was wrapped in the name of Jesus, an Italian suit, and a $200 haircut. He was one of those guys who turned me off organized religion for good. Christianity was a beautiful thing before the Christians got hold of it.