MOST people have no time for outlandish celebrity "death hoaxes" but they've probably never seen a dead man on stage.

On May 16, 2004, hopeful fans of comic genius Andy Kaufman threw a "welcome back" party on the 20th anniversary of his death.

Kaufman failed to turn up but there was a performance from lounge singer Tony Clifton, the alter-ego he passed on to his best friend.

In April 2012, festival-goers at Coachella in the US were understandably blown away by the appearance of deceased rap legend Tupac Shakur, even if it was via a state-of-the-art "hologram" projection.

Twitter just about exploded at the sight of the hologram tribute -  to a man some believe is still alive was served as a delicious irony to sarcastic pop-culture writers around the world.

If Tupac is indeed dead, ideas of conspiracy around his unsolved murder will survive longer than Tupac himself. 

To those claiming he faked his death to fool his enemies, the spooky hologram resurrection only gave fuel to the theory's fire (which to some has been sparked by his seven, yes seven, posthumous albums).

These concepts definitely aren't new. Literary figures have been playing dead since Shakespeare's Juliet and Mark Twain's Tom Sawyer, but in the past 100 years the shocking deaths of James Dean, Marilyn Monroe, Elvis Presley and Michael Jackson have brought the lore of pseudocide into reality.

The more outrageous the theory, the more it seems to intrigue the public.

Let's just consider the idea that a larger than life, mega-famous personality could suddenly go covert and spent the rest of their natural lives underground as an unglorified nobody. The very concept is both ridiculous and fascinating.

Most rational people would rightfully argue each of these story (or hoaxes) was started by grieving fans who refused to admit their idol could truly be gone. How good such well-known mega stars live unnoticed in a modern world of CCTV, tabloid papparazzi and DNA testing? 

Simply put, they (probably) couldn't. But if anyone was capable of faking their own death, it was Andy Kaufman.

The self-proclaimed "song-and-dance man" unexpectedly kicked the bucket five months after he was diagnosed with a rare lung cancer in 1985. Despite enduring months of illness the death came as a total shock to almost everyone. 

Kaufman was just 35 but his death was not sudden. The vegetarian non-smoker's apparent fate made headlines because, despite the fact he went through chemotherapy and psychic treatment, very few believed he was actually sick.

Close friends have told how, not long before his diagnosis, Kaufman shared plans for his biggest joke ever -  to fake his death and shock the world years later with a comeback.

He was advised against the idea and believed to have given up on it, but some mourners at his funeral admitted they nudged the lifeless prankster in his open casket, refusing to believe he wasn't pulling their leg. Ridiculous, right? Not when you consider how he made a living.

Kaufman's career was spent keeping his audience guessing. It guessed whether his outlandish antics were part of the act. It guessed whether he was insane and ulitmately it decided he was a comic genius. Kaufman was the father of awkward comedy and many of his characters became a full-time gig, even more than Sacha Baron Cohen has attempted in recent years with Ali G, Borat and The Dictator.

Joaquin Phoenix's laconic full-bearded appearance on Letterman a few years ago could almost be interpreted as a direct homage the way Kaufman presented himself on talk shows. But unlike Phoenix, no matter his antics, Kaufman was never one to come clean. There was no "In case you were wondering, this is an act - I'm a performance artist." 

Kaufman left us all wondering.

In one of his better-known bits, he appeared on stage as a shy foreign man (later known as the Latka character on the sitcom Taxi), performing horrible impressions to lull the audience into a false understanding of his talent.

The unknowing audience would groan until he busted out a dead-on Elvis Presley impersonation, said to have been the King's favourite before his own somewhat-contested death.

As one of the biggest names in Hollywood, Kaufman chose to work as a restaurant waiter in his spare time, performing bad impressions of himself to assure curious customers he wasn't really "Andy Kaufman from the TV".

Recently Kaufman's former writing partner and closest friend Bob Zmuda told the world he would be surprised if Andy ever walked through the door. 

"But I wouldn't be shocked. He'd go through chemotherapy. He'd do anything to pull off that he'd faked his death. What greater legacy for Andy Kaufman, to still think he might still be alive."

The arguably ambiguous ending of 1999 Kaufman biopic Man on the Moon added further speculation to the death hoax... but it's been almost 30 years. Could this really be possible?

My gut says it's probably not. Kaufman probably knew just by his track record people would banter theories around his death. Kaufman probably knew just mentioning it to friends would keep the audience guessing after he was well and truly gone. 

Still, as absurd as it is to believe a comedy legend could live so long without being found, I want to suspend my disbelief for this one instance.

I want to believe he's out playing golf in Mexico, drinking Coronas and looking for Elvis. I want to believe he'll come back at the perfect moment to shock the world.

If not, I'd happily settle for a hologram performance of Blue Suede Shoes at the next Coachella.

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