What did the clown say when he was asked about the size of his shoes?

Whatever it could be, he’s taken the punchline to that one with him.  His star rose some years ago in the early evening sky, hailing from the land of Ork.  No relation to the Tolkien varietal but rather the survivor of a network sitcom who rallied onward, upward and forever outward like an expanding double helix.  In many ways Robin Williams owed, and paid, homage to every comic that ever cast a line into a crowd and reeled in some laughs.  But Robin went big.  He went Papa Hemingway big for the biggest baddest whoppers out there and he did reel them in. 

He made my stolid Southern Baptist mom and pop laugh out-loud.  No easy task.  He made us all laugh hard, hard enough to cough and spit and gag and cry at how blindingly fast his wit could be.  Only one other comedian has ever been as good or as fast at the same time.  Bob Hope?  Nah.  Bill Cosby?  Close, but no.  Richard Pryor?  Okay, maybe Richard.  Certainly, it was Jonathon Winters as anyone with enough lines on their face will remember, Jonathon Winters was just as nimble and ludicrous and spot on all at the same time.  He, like Robin, was a runaway roller coaster teetering on two wheels and we were happy to ride along with our arms in the air.  Jonathon even did time in a sanitarium as a result.  Like so many of our generation, Robin turned to substance abuse.

His depression was laid bare only recently and probably as a direct result of sobriety.  Some folks are just too fast for the rest of us.  While we are happy to chillax or hold still for a moment, Robin could not.  I believe he sought peace in the only way he could, through self-medication and or inebriation.  Whatever it was that was eating at him has now had its fill.  That gluttonous soul eating fuck, self-loathing has taken another one from us and we are bereft.  David Foster Wallace, Richard Jeni, Tony Scott and now Robin Williams.  When will the madness stop?  Probably never.  It is a curious thing that all brilliant comedy is born of darkness.  Maybe it's a need to point at the abyss and laugh.

What we did not know of Robin will fill volumes in the years to come.  But I hope I never see a biopic and have to witness the drubbing the poor bastard cast as he will have to suffer.  No one could be Robin but Robin.  To think otherwise is folly and Hollywood’s prerogative. 

But maybe just maybe they’ll rally ‘round their fallen brother and honor his memory in a way befitting the laughs he bestowed upon us all.  Give us a Best of… made up of friends and coworkers that have something about Robin they’re willing to share with the rest of us and there should also be only one sponsor, an advocacy group that at every break can enlighten us in some small way as to what to look for when someone we love is dealing with serious depression.   And please, please, please not one damned psychedelic butterfly or dark hole with eyes hawking their brand of relief in pill form.

Till then, godspeed, Robin.  I already miss you, man.