Monday, July 6


You guys are never going to believe what I just heard. Michael Jackson, the King of Pop, died! Yes, way! Apparently, it happened about 11 news cycles ago and man alive are Matt Lauer & Larry King covering the shit out of it. So well in fact, I don’t care anymore. OK, to be honest, I didn’t care too much when it happened. Oh, I can already hear the chorus of “that’s mean!” through the internet tubes of my yahoos and googles. But frankly, not to bite anyone’s stilo, I thought he died back in 1989.

I find it hard to celebrate the life and times of Chester the Molester. Even if he didn’t do it, he's at the very least guilty of being criminally stupid and way too fucking creepy. I mean, who has a life-sized painting of himself as Peter Pan surrounded by cherub-like little boys?

Most of all, Jackson was an idiot for letting all of ‘that’ eclipse what he contributed musically. And that’s the point- it did and it has. I don’t care how good Off The Wall and Thriller were, or how bad Bad was, what everyone is going to remember is that he bleached himself the color of a fish’s underbelly, his nose was falling off and he dangled a baby off a balcony.

This story even has the news channels reporting TMZ style. Granted, I pretty much gave up on them when they lost their collective minds over Anna Nicole Smith (yeah, I didn't get it either). But even my beloved Keith Olberman? Imagine my shock when I woke up this morning and the Today show didn’t lead in with a Michael Jackson story. Now how am I supposed to figure out that his kids are white? With my eyes?

Everyone tries to pretend that it’s all about his music, but it’s not. You can’t address the music and the talent without addressing his fucked-up-ed-ness. I happen to think that he made good music up until he started to really screw around with his face, and that one definitely had something to do with the other. Not because he so obviously hated himself, on the contrary. Everyone knows self-loathing makes the very finest in music. Just ask Kurt Cobain. Self-loathing is to music, what Napa Valley is to wine. Fertile ground.

Eventually, his career declined because nothing could get through the narcissism, bloated ego and psychological problems that literally manifested themselves before our eyes. The only thing separating this from an Elvis scenario is a toilet. OK and the whole marrying Lisa Marie thing, because that’s incest and it’s not that kind of blog you sicko.

So, seriously can we just bury this guy in his oxygen chamber with the Elephant Man and Elizabeth Taylor already? This way, Joe Jackson can crawl back under his rock, Jermaine can spend some time contemplating what went wrong with his hair and why he shouldn’t pop his collar anymore (side note: his kid has my favorite awesome name of ALL TIME - Jermajesty) and maybe CNN can get back to, oh I don’t know, reporting news. I hear that Sarah Palin resigned. That should warrant some sort of coverage, as long as she doesn’t mind being interviewed close to the Staples Center in Los Angeles.