You probably didn't know this, but Trey's first ever post on The Strangelands was regarding Michael Jackson (it was also the second post ever written on The Strangelands). He linked to an article about Michael Jackson thinking his teddy bears were bugged. I clicked the link just a second ago, and it now leads to an article about Michael Jackson being dead.
I'll be real honest with you--I never liked Michael Jackson. Never. I remember when I was a kid, my sister and her friend Melissa used to play the Thriller tape over and over and over, even going so far as to rewind certain songs. They danced around in her bedroom like idiots, and I watched from the kitchen, mesmerized.
"That guy's a weird-o," I told them, because at the time, my vocabulary was rather limited. I didn't know words like pedophile or douche-hole. Which is what I have called Michael Jackson ever since I learned those words. Amongst other things.
Because screw that guy. I'm glad he's dead.
I mean, the Thriller video was kind of neat. It gave children across the country nightmares, and yet they couldn't help but watch each time it came on. And I doubt Weird Al would have ever gotten so popular if he didn't have Michael Jackson songs to parody, so that's something.
But the fact of the matter is, Jackson stopped being an asset to our culture long ago. People can parade across TV all day long, talking about what a hero he was (and they have--freakin' CNN is playing "Beat It" right now, I shit you not), but you know what? The guy was a goofy little freak. The black surgical masks? Remember when he held his infant over the edge of a balcony? Have you seen his face? He did that to himself!
Or, hey, remember when he was taking little boys to his ranch and "allegedly" molesting them? And then paying off their parents? Because I remember that shit. I remember Michael Jackson as the jackass with the white glove and the llama and the oddly high voice and the crazy nose and the constant weirdness.
When my princess came out and told me he was dead, I asked her what happened. In my head, I was thinking that it was either a vengeful father gunning him down, or that he died of a heart attack with a little boy in his bed.
Call me an asshole if you must, but time will tell, my friends.
I want to go on record as the guy who didn't mourn the day Michael Jackson died, all right? I want to go on record as the only one who didn't give a shit. It seems like I might be the only person on Earth who isn't all distraught about this shit (me and the mouth-breather from my math class who didn't even know Jackson had died because she was too busy writing on the internet about how awesome the Transformers sequel was--I swear to you, these people exist, and it is illegal to kill them).
I won't deny that he was gifted--I mean, I like covers of his songs, I just don't like it when he sings them. I won't deny that he had a huge impact on our culture. But you know what? It doesn't take much to have a huge impact on our culture. Paris Hilton did it by blowing some dude and then putting the video on the internet. I won't deny that he was the king of pop--but that kind of title has always seemed more like an insult to me, anyway, so what the hell.
But while you're out there listening to your mp3's of music that was created in the 80s, as you're out there talking about what a shame it is that he's dead, as you're out there being like every other fan, just remember this:
You had a twin brother. But your parents sold him to Michael Jackson as a sex toy. That empty feeling inside, that thing, where you feel alone and like you're missing something? That's your dead, sexually molested twin brother, crying out for you. Michael Jackson did that to you.
I'm just sayin'.