-Beep.-"Heeeey, Danica, Fred Savage. Just calling again. Haven't heard back from you yet, and a few more magazines are picking up this fake, false, untrue wedding story. Figured I'd let you know. I called a few of them up and said it wasn't true, that you weren't ready to get married yet, but it doesn't look like they're going to be taking it down or anything. It's really rough what we have to go through, with the paparazzi and all, am I right? But, that's what we have to put up with, Win-...Danica. Hey, we can talk about how ANNOYING the paparazzi is over coffee or drinks or something. Or as I call them, the
-Beep.-"Hey Danica. It's Fred Savage. Still haven't heard from you, and now I'm a little worried that I offended you with that racy 'pooperazzi' joke back there. I just want you to know that I in no way meant to upset you, and that I have complete and total respect for you and everything about you and everything you stand for. I would never disrespect or hurt you in anyway. So... Please just call me back, and we can clear up this whole 'pooperazzi' business. Call me back!"
-Beep.-"Danica, it's Savage. This marriage thing looks like it's getting way outta hand. Even the TV news is covering it. This isn't real, right? I'm- I mean- You-
-Beep.-"Savage here. This is real? This is fucking real? Listen, Winnie, I know we had some rough times. We both said some things we regret, and one of us got a restraining order, and I'm sure you regret that. Look, I just- If you want to meet, I'm gonna head down to the bar on Wilshire, you can meet me there, and we can meet and talk about all this. I just... I just need a drink right now."
-Beep.-"It's The Sav-Man. Gwendolyn, I want you to run away with me. I know I said I was doing alright, but, dammit, I'm a mess without you. You're making a buncha hot math books or whatever and I'm directing
-Beep.-"Lissen... Lissen, I really want you to hear thish because-- Hold on, hold on Winnie...No, fuck YOU. This is America, I can talk as llloud as I want.... Sorry about that Winica. This asshole bartender is telling me to keep it down because he thinks this is Communist China.
-Beep.-"[Unintelligible sobbing.] Neil Patrick Harris got a second chance. What the ffffuck?"
-Beep.-"What the fuck do you even see in this guy?! This dipshit you're 'marrying' or whatever. So what, so he's a song writer? 'Composer'? Big deal. Big f-f-f-fucking deal. My
-Beep.-"Dammit, shit, I wish I'd said 'Dongwriter' back there, because I was talkin' about my junk, and it just woulda been so much funnier and- Listen, just call me back if you get this, alright? It's Fred Savage."
-Beep.-"Whhaaaaat would you doooo, if I sang outta key? Would you stand up and walk out on me? Leeeend me your-- [Vomiting.]"
How did these hyper-specific tropes spread so quickly?
The Hollywood rumor mill has been playing games with celebrity deaths for at least a century.