It appears as though the overly-white-smile-flashing, cringe-worthy-performance-giving, frat-boy-looking tool Danny Gans has died the way he became famous--for no apparent reason at all.
When not sitting around counting his ill-gotten gains and flossing his fake chompers with his thread-thin penis, Gans liked to waste energy and millions of gallons of water sprinkling the grounds of his lavish homoerotic whites-only ranch in the middle of the freaking desert.
Now, I'm a great writer. Perhaps one of the best in history. But I'll use the words of another, Cintra Wilson's assessment of Gans 10 years ago (from salon.com,)to describe Gans:
Billed as "The Man of Many Voices," he couldn't have better word-of-mouth in town; Laotian cab drivers, unsolicited, gush over him. At poolside, fat, mustachioed and wealthy Texas drunks will go out of their way to sing his praises, apropos of nothing. He is called "incredible." He is actually, we discovered, the most hateful human being ever to have a dog-like and hooting audience full of tasteless, beer-powered, sentimental bigot Dipshits for Jesus.
...
Danny Gans is human filth. His show contained some of the worst, most militantly puerile, good ol' boy racist and homophobic hack material I have ever heard, not to mention the most seamlessly unidentifiable and all-alike-sounding group of vocal impressions ever assembled by a single venal abortion of a performer.
Screw you, Danny. Screw you and your orange skin and your fake crowns and your dyed jet-black
Nobody chose Gans this year, because this is a death pool for FAMOUS people.
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