I'll never forget seeing that poster in the rack at "Big K" . I was with five other guys that I hung with, the "chain gang" as my father referred to us, and we all collectively stopped and gazed in wonder. She was a knockout with a slender, somewhat modest, physique that hit guys our age right between the eyes. And that suit covered her like two coats of Dutch Boy barn paint. I never missed
Charlies Angels after that. As we aged together I found her still very interesting when she did Playboy years later.
She will live forever in the warmer places of the hearts of men our age.
With something so lovely taken away we have had yet another demonstration of how the inexplicable forces of our universe function to keep things in balance. An offsetting transfer of hideous human refuse has been consigned to the nether regions at the same time. The Gloved One, His Weirdness, The King of Pop, special friend to little boys and animals everywhere, the person who proved beyond the slightest shadow of a doubt that Elvis was dead, has himself departed this dimension.
May his legacy be a million rude jokes and rumors.

It's a dirty job but I got to do it for 27 years. Thank you.