That makes TWO in ONE DAY! Author and society bootlicker, Domick Dunne, is the latest to join the choir invisible. Dead at 83! Bladder cancer, this time. Will the Summer of Celebrity Slaughter never end? It’s EXHAUSTING! Who can even get it up to write a decent obituary anymore? Here’s the weird thing about this particular death, though. Why, JUST THIS MORNING I was looking for a book to send to Michael Alig – he’s been in solitary for about five months now, and no matter what you think of him, that’s a TOUGH row to hoe, you know what I mean? Anyway, COMPLETELY OUT OF THE BLUE, I grabbed a copy of The Two Mrs. Grenvilles because I always think that, post-prison, he’s going to be like the blowsy, ex-society murderess in the book, who wanders from country to country, always in the off-season, always looking for the party, even though nobody wants to be seen with her, and eventually she commits suicide because a nasty little queen wrote a book about her and nicknamed her “Bang-Bang.” And I thought: This is JUST THE THING to cheer Michael up! Isn’t that spooky? AT PRECISELY THE SAME TIME THAT DOMICK DUNNE WAS TAKING HIS LAST BREATH, I WAS LOOKING AT A DOMINICK DUNNE BOOK! How crazy is THAT? I mean, it’s not like I read a lot of his books. He was a hack, let’s face it. And I hadn’t even SEEN that copy in my library for YEARS. So, I think that I had a psychic vision about his death! Crazy, huh? Anyway, Dominick Dunne, society chronicler, blah blah blah, Vanity Fair columnist, blah blah blah, famously covered the OJ trial, blah blah blah, actress daughter strangled, never got over it blah blah blah.