Francis Bean Cobain Loser Husband Emo Shit

Kurt Cobain shot himself in the head twenty years ago. There’s some evidence to suggest his incredibly untalented wife may have played a hand in it. The content of her records just happen to mimic whatever rock star was sodomizing her at the time. A guy named Tom Grant made a documentary about her killing her husband, and it’s quite compelling. Let’s not forget these people are white trash who made it big. One of them was super talented, and quite possibly gay. The other was a crack whore with a face the size of a hubcap. 

Those white trash genes don’t subside in one generation just because your daughter has a half billion dollars in royalties. Frances Cobain creepily married a guy who looks exactly like Kurt Cobain named Isaiah Silva who plays in an incredibly unsuccessful band like her dad always dreamed of. The whole thing is very Taboo. She gifted him the guitar Cobain played onstage for MTV Unplugged, which is worth a shitload of money. They are now months into a nasty divorce proceeding which began the same day they got married. 

Courtney Love is reportedly hiring thugs to get Silva to give up the guitar. In response he is reportedly hiring the guy who made the documentary about Love killing her husband to hang around on retainer because he fears for his safety. This shit just got meta.

Best case scenario everyone in this story is killed in a bloody jealousy fueled massacre except for Frances Cobain who was taking an opium nap at the time of the slaying and passed for dead. She retains the rights to the documentary but never finishes it because she’s never done anything in her life. Years later she marries a sixty year old drifter whose fingerprints happen to match Kurt Cobain’s. They move to France and are never heard from again. Someone writes a 20,000 word article about the saga in GQ but it remains ignored by the mainstream media. You walk around town asking anyone if they’ve read it. Every shrug drives you more and more crazy. You end up in the Bahamas wandering the beach and chattering to yourself. That sixty year old guy with the beard who’s fucking his daughter on vacation observes you and writes a song about it which he then sells to Kanye West. It is never released. Life goes on. 

This is why we can’t have nice things. 

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