Hey, hey JFK
(How many girls did you kill today?)

I used to believe that John Fuckin' Kennedy Junior was the luckiest person in America. I don't believe that anymore. I now believe Daryl Hannah is the luckiest person in America.

The second luckiest person in America: Senator Ted Kennedy. Every day, he must be amazed that he's still alive. He probably makes late-night phone calls to Keith Richards.

"Keith, baby, can you believe this shit? Call you again in five years."

Yes, the Kennedy curse has reared its ugly head once again and I'm truly saddened. Now I've got to watch CNN, MSNBC and the major networks rehash JFK Jr. bullshit.

Give me a break.

On Arts & Entertainment Sunday, they showed -- you guessed it -- Junior's biography. Talk about a stretch. First, they show footage of him saluting his dad's coffin when he's three years old. Then, they cut to when he graduates from high school. Then he enters Brown University. Acts in a play. Graduates. Goes to law school. Gets a job with the New York City DA's office. Flunks the bar. Still keeps his job.

He won all six of his cases, by the way. Since he was an assistant DA for four years, that works out to eight months per case. Fuck me, even I could win a case every eight months.

Possibly.

Next, A&E shows Junior starting his magazine, George. After that, A&E still needs 20 minutes to fill. So they show Junior at various trials and funerals. Plenty of footage. Junior at the William Kennedy Smith trial, Junior at the funeral of Michael Kennedy, Junior at the funeral of his mother, Junior at a Profiles In Courage Telethon.

In truth, Junior turned out way better than I ever thought he would. Given his background, I would have pegged him as the Kennedy most likely to do the drugs and the baby sitter. Why not? If I had been JFK's son, I would have worn a huge Kennedy-curse chip on my shoulder and milked it for years in neighborhood bars.

"Then five years later, they whack my uncle," I'd say, as I knocked down whiskey sours.

At least at times like these, we get to observe how bad network television is. The three majors jumped on the tragedy immediately and gave us excellent footage of the overcast skies at Martha's Vineyard.

"We're still waiting to hear developments," Peter Jennings said for three hours straight. But if you tuned into ABC last Saturday, you were well-rewarded when Jennings took an anonymous call from a prankster.

Jennings: You say you're calling in from Martha's Vineyard?

Caller: Yes, I am calling in from Martha's Vineyard.

Jennings: With information?

Caller: Yes

Jennings: About John Kennedy Jr.'s plane?

Caller: Yes

Jennings: And what do you have to tell us?

Caller: That Howard Stern thinks you're a dick.

I know. How can I be so heartless? Junior hasn't been dead a week and I'm already cracking wise.

I'll tell you why. Because I've figured out the key to the Kennedy curse. Hopefully, one of the Kennedy clan will read this and take action. If they listen to me, the curse will be lifted.

Here's the secret: Keep the fuckin' Kennedys away from all vehicles whatsoever. Planes, boats, cars - even snow skis, for crissakes. If it moves, don't let a Kennedy near it.

Look at history: Joe Kennedy Jr., killed in a plane during WWII. His sister Kathleen, also killed in a plane. JFK senior, shot in a car and also crashed PT 109 into a Japanese destroyer. Michael Kennedy, clobbered on snow skis. Ted Kennedy, still alive, but ran his car off a bridge at Chappaquiddick and took out Mary Jo Kopechne. JFK Jr., the plane again.

Sure, Bobby got shot in a Los Angeles hotel kitchen, but that was a fluke, an exception to the rule. Besides, he's the only one who deserved to die. When I was young, I loved Bobby Kennedy and thought he was our only hope to end the Vietnam War, preferably in time for my high school graduation. But history shows he was the most uptight non-Southerner in government since J. Edgar Hoover. He worked on Joe McCarthy's Committee for Un-American Activities, ordered the bugging of Martin Luther King, broke deals with the Mafia and hassled the Teamsters' Union. Bobby didn't die from the Kennedy curse. He was begging to get whacked.

The Kennedy curse wouldn't be a national nuisance if it didn't involve innocent bystanders. Even the Mafia doesn't do that. President Kennedy gets shot in Dallas, and Governor John Connally takes a bullet. Joe Kennedy Jr. eats it in a plane, and the co-pilot bites it as well.

This time, Junior took out two women, his wife Carolyn Bessette (arguably the hottest babe since Linda McCartney) and his sister-in-law, Lauren Bessette. Is there really a Kennedy curse? You bet. And it was probably on the lips of Carolyn and Lauren ten seconds before they crashed.

"Fuckin' Kennedys!"

One thing's for sure. We can't allow any more Kennedys to die. An A&E biography on Caroline Kennedy Schlossberg would surely tear the nation apart.

STANDARD DISCLAIMER: This column aims to be funny. If you can read anything else into it, you're on your own. Copyright 1999 by Mike Jasper.