Monday, June 29, 2009

Michael Jackson, RIP

What? Floogin's an MJ fan? Um, no. Not really. Sure, a young Floogin was mesmerized by the green lasers in the Off The Wall video - it was off the wall, no? Sure, I watched him steppin' on lights, singing about someone else's kid. Sure, I stayed home to see the WORLD PREMIERE videos, and yes, Floogin did attempt to moonwalk in the privacy of his own home. Didn't everyone back then?

Ok, maybe not everyone but I did. And yes, his music was good back then. Yes, it was overplayed and he most certainly did become a freak show of sorts.

Let's face it, when you hang with a monkey, sleep in a glass coffin and start altering your appearance beyond recognition, things are not quite normal.

So, the world mourns his passing. Today we find out he weighed under 115 pounds and his body was covered in track marks. He was a fucking junkie. That's what they're telling us. That's why his personal physician fled after trying to revive him and that's why his physician's lawyer has been doing all his talking. Who the fuck lawyers up if they're innocent and not being accused of anything? Guilty people, that's who.

And so, we know he was into his pain killers. We also know he was into some odd shit. The monkey and the ranch and all that other crap that he did to ensure that he was surrounded by very young children. That all plays right into the pedophile claims, no? The man paid people off to avoid lawsuits and criminal charges. Again, who does this? Guilty people, that's who.

He was broke. He was was an accused pedo. He was a junkie and he spent the latter part of his life making himself look whiter and whiter and so, now that he's dead, who are the two spokesmen for the grieving family and the lost idol?

The Reverend Jesse Jackson and the Reverend Al Sharpton.

Two of the biggest piles of shit around. These two spotlight hogging scumbags will latch onto anyone in an effort to promote themselves. Sure, Joe Jackson was photographed grinning like a Cheshire over the weekend and why not? Thanks to the death of Michael, all things Jackson will now become hot again. Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if the remaining Jacksons put out another cd and went on tour. LaToya and Michael's mom both went to his home, looking to find the cash Michael supposedly loved to stash all over the place.

Everyone wants to cash in on the death of this fallen idol and the two at the top are the two biggest scumbags around. Jesse and Al are talking about how Michael paved the way for black musicians like Jackie Robinson did for black baseball players. Say what?

Before Michael there was Chuck Berry, James Brown, Jimi Hendrix, and, oh, a million others. Michael just sold more records and, like another fallen idol, OJ, he ditched his roots on the way up.

Michael and OJ seemed to shun their roots, OJ wanted nothing to do with the black community and Michael didn't want to look like himself, opting for surgery after surgery in what seemed to be an obsession with looking like some freaky old white queen.

And now that he's dead, he's the Jackie Robinson of music, an insult to every black musician before him. Musicians like Fats Domino, Etta James, Chubby Checker, Snooks Eaglin, Howlin Wolf, etc. Do Berry Gordy, Stevie Wonder and Quincy Jones not matter? What about Diana Ross who discovered the family? Was she not black too?

Such hypocrisy and the concept of ignoring all the kookery of the last 15 or so years of his life is a joke. He hung "his" kids over balcony railings, called one of these kids "blanket" and turned them into freak shows unto themselves. Their mother says they aren't his kids, the semen was from an anonymous donor and she doesn't want them either. Nice.

And there were pics of these kids. They weren't his. One of them looks like an extra from Village of the Damned.

The concert promoter who was looking at a $100 million dollar loss thanks to his death has announced a cd and dvd of his recorded rehearsals. The family supposedly has over 100 songs to release.

The man was worth more dead than alive and everyone will try and capitalize on it.

Somewhere, the dead junkie pedophile is doing a moonwalk.


Anonymous said...

Admittedly, I had a sequined glove, purple sparkly socks...and I can still moon walk. And when drunk..occasionally prove it.
I won't miss him a bit.

Vodka Logic said...

Nope never tried to moon walk.

Well said and about sums up it all up.


Someone You Don't Know said...

Excuse my language, but that was fucking brilliant. So true and just, brilliant.

foxy roxy said...

I was 5 when Thriller hit the scene. That year revolved around MJ, the glove, the red-zipper jacket. Four posters donned my bedroom walls, and i declared to anyone who would listen that, when I grew up, I wanted to marry MJ. I was 5, he was larger than life. I was smitten.

Little did I know I was the right age then, but the wrong sex.

25 years later, I couldn't care that he died. The MJ I idolized as a small child was long dead.