In 1968, a girl who looked like Lili Taylor shot Andy Warhol at close range in the lobby of his Factory. Miraculously, he survived, wig slightly askew. Almost 20 years later, his worst fear was more fully realized when he succumbed to tragically mundane complications of gallbladder surgery. But even that event could only be called death in the most literal, physical sense, what with his work and his overwhelming impact on pop culture—not to mention the legions of people who to this day pleadingly screech, "I knew Andy Warhol!"
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