Cat in a Jeweled Jumpsuit

When the Jaycees named him an outstanding young man of 1971, Elvis Presley reveled in the achievement because it was more than another performing benchmark. It was a testimony to character and personal worth. He was already outstandingly indentured to prescription medications by then, and Priscilla would leave him in a year. It was already the beginning of the end, but a proud moment. As he said in his acceptance speech, he'd fulfilled every dream he'd had as a child worshipping comic book heroes who would doff their impotent ordinariness, don a gaudy jumpsuit, and fly to everyone's rescue.

That was the problem, he had fulfilled every dream. Only the nightmares were left.