Fuck Michael Jackson
At least that’s what most people had in their collective minds before Jacko said (or gurgled) goodbye.
With his death, it’s produced a faux unity that’s just mind-numbing. The collective once condemned him for his interaction with Macaulay Culkin. And I can‘t help but recall the reaction to Heath Ledger’s death. Before January 2008, the public was raving “fag this, homo that, LOL The Brothers Grimm.” By July, they’re wetting themselves over sloppily-applied makeup and a mediocre performance.
On the interwebz, I saw a horde of people surrounding Michael Jackson’s star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame. A rapport was struck between the reporter and a few girls regarding their favorite nutbag:
“What are your favorite songs by Michael Jackson?”
“Um, I love ‘Thriller.’ Like, right before I came here, I was watching it on YouTube.”
“Do you like any other songs off the album?”
“I don’t know what album it’s on.”
Please kill yourself.
The man was undoubtedly a stellar performer and produced a steady stream of hits that could’ve convinced Christopher Reeve to jump on the dance floor and bust a move. But let’s not put him on a higher pedestal than he’s already (and deservingly) attained. The least we could do for him is maintain a continuity of black/white, cosmetic, Mickey Mouse voice, Jesus Juice drinkin’, Elephant Man bonesin’, pedophiliac jokes as we’ve all done in record numbers before he croaked. Lord knows that Jacko could hardly give a shit now, and to endear ourselves to a blind pro-Jackson mentality would merely do his legacy an inaccurate disservice.
From the bottom of my heart, and with complete love and respect for the King of Pop, fuck Michael Jackson.
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