Last I heard, 12 people had committed suicide over Michael Jackson's death. I shit you not. And that was a few days ago, so even more ultra-sensitive souls might have offed themselves since then, for all I know. I haven't had the TV or radio on for days because if I hear one more update on Michael Jackson's death, I'm gonna go on a killing spree. I remember when Chevy Chase saying, "Generalissimo Francisco Franco is still seriously dead," was funny because it was a fucking JOKE -- but now it's on my goddamned TV 24 hours a day about this one-man circus! Especially infuriating are the perfectly-coiffed overly made-up "news"-sluts who ask one or both of these annoying questions over and over and over: "Who killed Michael Jackson?" and/or "What killed Michael Jackson?" MICHAEL FUCKING JACKSON killed Michael Jackson! And he did it in the conservatory with a mountain of drugs! I swear, this guy should be given a posthumous Nobel Prize for the MOST INEVITABLE DEATH EVER!
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Hey, I liked the music, I really did. I enjoyed the Thriller video as much as anyone else. Anything that put Vincent Price to work is the bee's knees in my book. Yes, Jackson was talented, that is unquestionable. But there are a lot of extremely talented people in the world -- talented people who aren't also batshit crazy, and rich enough to realize every single solitary goddamned batshit crazy notion that pops into their spinning heads, and insane enough to keep doing it even after they can't afford to pay for it anymore! When those extremely talented people die, do I have to endure more than a week of wall-to-wall coverage (and it isn't over yet, people)? No! Sometimes I don't even hear that they're gone until days, weeks, or months later! I mean, if Jesus fucking Christ came in the clouds right now and the dead started rising from their graves, the story would be lucky to get a brief mention somewhere between the latest update on Bubbles the fucking Chimp and the weather report for Jackson's memorial service.
Paul Newman was one of the greatest movie stars Hollywood has ever seen, and a damned fine actor to boot, and he spent much of his long life quietly raising hundreds of millions of dollars to improve the lives of sick and dying kids -- and to the best of my knowledge, he never SLEPT with any of those kids, and if he DID, he wasn't so BUGFUCK CRAZY that he admitted it on television and then got his sequined panties in a bunch because all those nasty, mean people in the world just didn't understand what a wonderful thing that was. He didn't hire anyone to pop babies out for him so he'd have a little kiddie petting zoo, he didn't dangle any babies off of fucking balconies, and he didn't undergo countless plastic surgeries to mutilate himself into a GODDAMNED GELFLING FROM HELL! He got cancer, died, it was in the news for two or three days, TCM ran some of his movies, and it was over. If anyone deserved more than a week of chest-beating and garment-rending, it was THAT guy. But NOOOO! We reserve that for a guy who was so weird, he made the incredible nutjob Howard Hughes look like PAT FUCKING BOONE! I don't know who's more insane -- Michael Jackson or US.
Okay, rant over. Everybody go back to whatever it was you were doing.
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