Lest we forget.

photo credit: la picarita

Michael Jackson is gone and I’m not sad. I guess that makes me as much of a freak as he was, given the massive media explosion of coverage on a wretch of a man whose megalomania apparently knew no bounds. I will try my best in the coming days and weeks to avoid the sycophantic rubbish from fanatics that will inevitably follow his timely demise. No doubt these same fanatics will queue through the tears to retrieve their ticket money from the cancellation of 50 miming events, er, sorry – concerts. Now that’s dedication!

And let’s not forget his own admission of sleeping with children – his grooming and patronage of their parents beforehand was classic predator behaviour. Remember how he sat in court exclaiming “The pyjamas don’t fit – you must acquit!”, only to walk away scot-free? OK, maybe I’m getting confused with another famous trial there, but he did walk away from very strong allegations of child abuse. At the very least it was inappropriate – even Peter Pan didn’t feel up Wendy or the other kids – maybe TinkerBell got some but that was purely between consenting magical practitioners!

Lest we forget his frivolous lifestyle, the wasting of an entire fortune, the pretentious costumes and lavish spending sprees. His earnings propped up his abusive family, their entourage, the several religious groups he affiliated himself with (Jehovah’s Witness, Scientologists, Mormons and probably some sect of Islam in his latter days), Paul McCartney and Richard Starkey, Quincy Jones and entourage, Jesse Jackson, Al Sharpton, bubbles, blanket, Debbie Roe, Lisa Marie Presley and entourage, Uri Geller and countless other friends, sycophants, cling-ons and well wishers. The modicum of sympathy I feel for the man now extends to these poor souls who now have to find an equally barmy patron.

As an artist, well, I can hardly reconcile the words “Jackson” and “artist” in the same sentence. Despite being widely credited as a writer on a lot of his own albums, when you see who actually played the instruments he is rarely on the list of musicians, but often credited with “arrangements”. In modern recording studio parlance that usually means he had very little real musical talent.

And finally, lest we forget, remember that little black kid singing “Ben”? He turned into a little white dude singing “it don’t matter if you’re black or white”. Apparently irony wasn’t one of his strong points either.

Bah humbug.

MJ-RIP (lest we forget)

Tags: blanket, bubbles, meglomania, Michael Jackson, sociopath

This entry was posted on Friday, June 26th, 2009 at 2:10 pm and is filed under Featured, Humour, Music, People of Note, Psychology, Robot overlords. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.