Wow Michael Jackson’ has been dead for over a year now. That was one quick fucking year, boys and goils.
MJ’s last tour generated a huge amount of publicity, as was expected. Here was arguably the most famous man on earth doing his farewell tour. And the rumors, oh my, my, the fucking rumors.
There wasn’t a whole lot of good news. Or were they just rumors? Bad news sells better than good news and if you wanted a real mind-numbing train wreck of a story, true or not, you could always, always, count on Michael Jackson to be the bear the brunt.
We’ve all heard the tales of freak emanating from MJ’s life. His sex life (or lack thereof) was the one that fascinated me the most. Think about it. If MJ was hot for women, the public would have known.
When guys have a never-ending supply of Poon it’s a little hard for us to keep a thing like that under wraps. We tend to want to be seen with the most gorgeous woman we can get on our arms. It’s a guy thing. It says “I won you fuckers!” “Lookee what I got (and you don’t)!!”.
And Michael was no different (what?). Except he was obviously not a true poon-hound because you could tell he didn’t really grasp the concept. And a true pooner doesn’t need to grasp the concept! He has women, any woman he wants, grabbing at his wee-wee at all times of the night and day.
If he was “into” it there would not be enough blood left in his brain to form a cognitive thought. You can always tell this by the big stupid grin a guy gets when he knows he going to score with a beautiful woman, a hot babe. The stupid grin comes from the lack of normal brain function due to blood “misplacement”.
Michael never looked like he was gonna get laid. And this is with Brooke Shields on his arm! Brooke in her prime! If anyone out there is too young to know about the psycho-sexual furor that surrounded Brooke Shields when she was young, I’ll lay it out for real fucking simple. Every guy on the planet wanted to pork her! And if you say different you’re a lying motherfucker!
Guys had drooled over her from the time it was illegal, meaning little Brooky was one of the most famous pieces of jailbait the world had ever seen. All the way from her performance as an underage (way underage) prostitute in the 1978 movie “Pretty Baby” to her Calvin Klein’s jeans advertisements. Guys worldwide strained their necks, placed wages, jostled to the front of an angry mob to see just who would be the lucky fuck to first ruin her happy little hymen!! Amen, brothers!
And it looked like old Mikey was going to be the first to get to the proverbial holy land. Then it didn’t. The rumors went cold. Just when the world was going to see Michael Jackson finally make up his freaking mind and fuck something, alas it was not to be.
He was then seen in public cradling a tiny little McCauley Caulkin! Cue the rumors that caused a shit-storm of epic proportions that would follow him his entire life. A publicist’s nightmare!
Can you imagine the phone calls from the assistant publicist, the man “on the ground” if you will (and you will…) to the main publicist when all this weirdness with the kids and the chimp started.
Assistant: “Well, Boss, I got some good news and some bad news.”
Publicist: “All right. Hit me with some good news first.”
Assistant: “Michael’s found a replacement for Brooke!”
Publicist: (voice cracking) “A - a-nd the bad news?”
Assistant: “It’s McCauley Caulkin.”
Publicist: “The child actor? How old is he now?”
Assistant: “Twenty-seven.”
Publicist: “Boy, he hides it well.”
Assistant: ‘Yeah it’s great! He looks like he’s eight!”
Publicist: “What are they doing?”
Assistant: “He’s holding him on his hip like a toddler.”
Publicist: “Are the press taking notice?”
Assistant: “Well Liz Taylor just walked by with one of her tits’ accidentally hanging out and nobody so much as flinched”.
Publicist: “Oh dear God…”
Same personnel, different event:
Assistant: “Well, Boss, I got some more good news and some bad news.”
Publicist: “All right. Hit me with some good news first.”
Assistant: “Michael’s found a replacement for McCauley Caulkin!”
Publicist: (voice cracking) “A - a-nd the bad news?”
Assistant: “It’s a chimp! In a diaper!”
Publicist: “Are you sure it’s not Gary Coleman?”
Assistant: “My first thought, too, so I checked. His name is Bubbles!”
Publicist: “And you’re sure Michael knows that’s not McCauley?”
Assistant: “Pretty sure, yeah.”
Publicist: “We have to find some way to get this out of the public eye.”
Assistant: “We could have him taking the kids to an amusement park and not a party at Studio 54!”
Publicist: “Hell, he could buy his own kids at this point!”
Assistant: “Jeez, Boss, that’s going pretty far, even for you…
And so the nightmare continued.
I’ve come to a hypothesis about the whole deal with Michael Jackson being a pederast. I honestly don’t think he was having sex with children. I do think that the relationships he had cultivated with these youngsters were wrong. Even if his intentions were absolutely innocent, in the real world, a single man his age just cannot have a posse whose collective age is still under eighteen. Especially if you just happen to be a weirdo billionaire pop star.
Is it so hard for us to believe that there exists a man so deeply scarred by his past as to render him an asexual androgynous soul? Someone that is just so fed up with the bullshit heaped on him by adult aged people from the time he was a young child himself he seeks out innocence. Children are innocent. Innocents that don’t know enough to judge him or be in awe of him. Or want him to make them famous or rich! Shit. It must have never fucking ended for him!
I guess he could have hung out with “Adults with Special Needs” but once a retard learns how to masturbate it just changes the whole innocence dynamic! (I know, I know – I’ve been going to Hell for a long time now…)
Michael also suffered from intense chronic pain. Now the details of this are what a “paid” columnist would provide. However I don’t think anybody would be real surprised if they heard Michael Jackson was suffering from some permanent, very painful, injury.
After all, the way he danced, the way he moved, put him in the same echelon as any professional athlete. While I was watching the heartbreaking documentary of his last days “This Is It” I came to the realization that I was so impressed with this guys’ talent that I’m actually a fan. Shit. Me, a Michael Jackson fan. Fancy that.
He not only kept up with, but surpassed the professional dancers that were half his age. He was in total control of the choreography, stage and costume design, sound, choosing musicians and dancers. Not to mention the music. Most of which he had written himself. You never really think of Michael Jackson as a song writer, but if you think of all the hits he has written he far surpasses many artists that are thought of solely as songwriters. And they can’t dance.
In my opinion what did Mike in at the end was depression and insomnia brought on by getting straight. This is the scary part they don’t tell you about in school or on “Intervention”. When you have been physically dependent on opiate-based medications for many years, for what ever reason, you will eventually build up a tolerance to these medications. It can get completely out of control to the point where your life is no different than that of the demonized street-drug junkie.
So you go through opiate withdrawal. This has been compared to torture so severe so horrible that people have stayed on Methadone for DECADES in order to keep from going through the horrors of withdrawal.
Only the truly brave and determined can make it through that type of hell. Only a few make it to the point where you are no longer dependant on, or just taking, any medications at all.
But what they don’t tell you is that the hell of recovery has just begun. First and foremost kiss the concept of sleep goodbye. Throw on top of that a heaping shovelful of depression so bleak it’s mind-numbing.
After about six weeks you’d do anything to get even just a few minutes of sleep. And if you are a billionaire and the world’s most famous pop star there are people from heads of state to medical doctors that will do anything just to be in your presence. And they sure did.
He just wanted some fucking sleep. He just wanted a few minutes of fucking peace.
Be careful what you wish for.
Originally Posted by Pat Dillon(Fee Waybill) Monday July 19th, 2010
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