Jacko (aka Jackson, Michael)
Yeah, yeah. Don’t speak ill of the dead. (Why is that, exactly?) As far as I’m concerned, that rule applies only to fine people whom we remember fondly, which ironically would save us the trouble of needing to speak ill of them anyway. Don’t get me wrong: I’m sure even Mother Theresa and Princess Di had their moments of just being straight up bitches. Still, in their cases, the amount of “negative press,” so to speak, is towered over by the good they did.
Not so much for you, Jacko.
Look, here’s the problem: you’re still thinking of this Michael Jackson…
“Look at me: I’m still young and black.”
instead of this one…
“Hmmm, should I drop him or gnaw on his head? Decisions, decisions…”
I’ve got some news for your, friends: Michael Jackson molested children (allegedly), dangled babies, owned monkeys, fucked Brooke Shields (allegedly, but I suppose that’s a positive, althought she may or may not be insane according to Tom Cruise), owned real estate called “The Neverland Ranch” (you know, like Peter Pan, so he never had to grow up), married and “made out” with Lisa Marie Presley, didn’t marry and made out with Emmanuel “Webster” Lewis (allegedly), bought the rights to essentially all of the Beatles’ music, turned himself into a white woman, dressed his children as though every day was either Halloween or Ramadan, popped pills, and, best of all, had to cast his own sister as his love interest in the most famous video of all time, “Thriller.”
Ladies and gentlemen, this is your hero.
Look, I’ve worshipped all sorts of musicians, writers and artists in all my years on this planet, and I can say without fail that many if not most of them probably committed one sick or illegal act or another in their lifetime. But let’s face it: Jacko’s “accomplishments” read more like a rap sheet than a personal history. What’s more, this same Jack(o)-ass is resposible for such “hits” as “Remember the Time,” “Black or White,” and “Man in the Mirror.” Again, please remind me: why are we so enamored with this guy?
Lots of famous people come from dysfunctional families. And, yes, it’s unfortunate that his father was such a dick and committed him to celebrity status at such a young age. But last time I checked performing on American Bandstand as a child doesn’t entitle you to sleepovers with Macaulay Culkin! (And by the way, look at how well ol’ Mac has turned out.)
Is it any wonder he’s so darn good at making this face?
I’m not suggesting for a second that Michael was without talent, but I think it’s nearly impossible to separate the man/woman from his/her music in this case. Record all the #1 Billboard hits you want, but if you’re screwing certain children and suspending others over railings, sorry, you don’t get a pass in my book. Hell, I shed more tears when Eight Belles was put down at the Kentucky Derby than I did when Jacko kicked.
Thanks for “Thriller,” Jacko. Here’s to hoping your children, as well as the youth of America, are forever safe from here on out.
Well, that’s all for now. Until next time, have at it, you vultures!