Friday, June 26, 2009

Ding Dong The Witch Is Dead

OK. It's all over the news, and I guess we have to pay our due to the death of a once hugely popular music icon, Michael Jackson. I grew up in the 70's, and I remember the days of ABC and 123, and I'll Be There. Then there was the Moonwalk that I could never get right. And the creepy night of the living dead Thriller stage. The man could sing. The man could dance. And he did. Sing. And dance.

So all hail the King of Pop.

But then the mother in me creeps out. ( And, yes, constant reader. I can be quite the mother. In a variety of ways.) Does anyone out there today remember the infamous child molestation charges that always managed to pop up around this guy? Or the tales of sexual abuse that mysteriously went away amid swirls of rumors of parents accepting large amounts of money to silence their broken children. After all, isn't that a valuable lesson to teach one's child? (Hell, the mountain man would've volunteered for a mere five million and a roofie!)

And how come no one's mentioning the "Jesus Juice" this King Of Pop so generously plied his under aged companions with? And isn't anyone curious as to why a grown man had his own little Disneylandesque play land in his back yard? (What, offers of candy and lollipops were too passe?)

And while I'm at it, who in their right mind would not only bequest three young children upon this surgical recreation of a man, but leave those same children motherless and unattended with no one to guide them but a "man" who was so uncomfortable in his own skin that he spent a lifetime trying to alter it?

OK. So the King of Pop is dead. He could sing. He could dance. And millions of people the world over will cry and profess their unabashed love for him.

Me? I think a lot of kids out there are silently cheering. And it is the loss of their innocence that I mourn today. I think someone some where should have ripped that one handed little glove off of him at some point and slapped it across that made to order face of his. King of Pop? Blech.

Kinda ironic that a germaphobe who hid from the world should die from the most twisted part of his own body- his heart! Maybe he shoulda asked the The Wiz for a new one back in the day?

Post script- sorry for the downer today, faithful readers-but if I had to listen in silence to one more "All hail The King of Molestation" today, I believe I may have punched someone. So thanks for listening. And saving me bail money.

We will resume our regularly scheduled "mysuestories" programming later today.

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