Categories: Science Posted on December 28, 2010 By: Roy
I’ve found that making up systems is pretty easy. It must be one of those human impulses, to find a sense of logic in everything. Of course none of it is true. I don’t really buy into many systems of thought used to explain human emotions. For example, maybe you’ve heard of psychological term “displacement,” which is an unconscious defense mechanism whereby the mind redirects affects from an object felt to be dangerous or unacceptable to an object felt to be safe or acceptable. So, when your Mom loses her job she comes home and beats your Dad. OK, I guess we can use a term to describe that emotional reaction- but I’m always a little wary of these things. The same goes for dream interpretation. Yes, I think dreams can tell you things, but sometimes people can be too quick to apply a simple system of logic to the infinitely more complicated processes of the psyche.
Having said that, here’s a system I’ve developed (in about 4 minutes) to describe the intricacies of love (feel free to comment on the variety of flaws and over all under-development in the comments). I’m calling it the F.A.I.L-S.A.F.E system of romantic development. Let me explain:
The system is divided into two parts. The first, F.A.I.L., outlines what I imagine to be the ideal person to start a relationship with and then explains why this person cannot exist. The second, S.A.F.E, offers a more realistic set of qualities to pursue in the opposite (or same) sex.
Hello again, Smartass radio’s Michael Jackson correspondent Megan Riebesell here, just checking in to follow up on the status of our dearly beloved. As we all could have predicted, not even MJ’s passage into eternity could ease the controversy that besieged him all his life. Back here on earth, we are still picking away at every morsel of flesh that our ugly beaks can scrape off his bones. People are still making careers out of revealing any kind of sensitive information they can dig up in his wake, so-called “artists” are still depending on his legacy for their own shot at celebrity or capital, and the fat, greedy vultures of the world are still milking his hard-earned masterpieces for every pathetic cent they can steal. However, do not fret, I am here to remind everyone that Michael’s pure soul, which was always too powerful to be contained by a simple human body, has finally reached its proper ranking among the gods, as an immortal presence. Of course, Michael’s kingdom in the great beyond is immune to the commotion of silly, frantic scavengers still chirping his name down here. Rest in assurance, MJ smiles down on all of his children still, giggling at our antics.
That being said, skimming through Jacko’s most recent controversy was actually a pretty hilarious and of course bizarre venture. Where do I even begin?
Hey kiddies! Uncle Chach-nof-ski has returned! For the record, I’d like to say that my L.L. Cool J-esque comeback has nothing to do with that terminally ill child who promised to stop writing me three letters a day if I started regular contribution again. I know that after the Michael Jackson/Farrah Fawcett/Cory Lidle thing no one can stand more bad news. Unfortunately, his Chachness has one more vine of sour grapes. Trent Reznor, the front man of your favorite band when you were in the seventh grade, has deleted his Twitter account!
According to Rolling Stone, “Prior to the deletion, Reznor talked about ditching Twitter because, simply, ‘Idiots rule.’ As Reznor reiterated in his NIN.com post, it was the trolling that made Twitter insufferable for him and caused the sudden end of @trent_reznor.”
Probably too old for Twitter anyway…
I realize that we haven’t heard the sweet tweetings of our gallant Trent since the tail end of July, but panic you should not! As a long time fan and stalker of Trent, I, the Great Chachámaron am here to catch you (yes even you in the XXL black Downward Spiral tee with the eleven stupid bracelets) up on his daily murmurings.
Some people say Wheaties is the breakfast of champions. I jerk off to David Bowie’s Laborynth every morning! Nothing ever Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes!
9:06 AM from TweetDeck
Remember when I had to like Johnny Cash’s cover of my song “hurt” just because he was dying? Yikes. Our version was way better.
12:21 PM from TweetDeck
God I love PETA. NIN stopped touring because I couldn’t bear to look at all the fans wearing fur anymore.
1:58 PM from TweetDeck
I lied. The real reason we stopped is that Perry Farrell filled my hotel room with blind men from Match.com last time we played Jersey.
3:34 PM from TweetDeck
The woman at the table next to me is eating the most delicious looking lamb! God I hate PETA!
6:41 PM from TweetDeck
Ah! Nothing like a warm cup of Earl Grey and a huge shot of heroin after a long day.
7:38 PM from TweetDeck
Even though Cody Chestnut does look good in leather, I’d prefer he didn’t wear leather as much as he does. I mean what about PETA?
9:01 PM from TweetDeck
Nevermind. I’m watching him on YouTube and he looks damn good in leather. But Cody’s the only exception. Don’t any of you get any leather ideas!
9:03 PM from TweetDeck
Wow. I’m almost too tired to listen to Ziggy Stardust and touch myself before I fall asleep. Goodnight Moon!
10:10 PM from TweetDeck
It’s no wonder that everyone is developing more and more negative biases towards twenty-something hipsters. First there is all the exhibit-A photo evidence at “Look At This Fucking Hipster”. Second, we’ve got all these so called “indie” bands that keep popping up on Jimmy Fallon. Today I watched some band I’ve never heard of called “Bats for Lashes” and they were really sour. Triple H was the other guest on the show and I’m sure as he was watching from the sidelines he was thinking, “So this is what those hipster fags are listening too. Beating them up is now justified.” And as if that wasn’t enough, now hipsters are punching defenseless shit.
The Chicago Tribune reports that a 21 year old snob named Pablo Fernandez left the Lollapalooza music festival and proceeded to begin petting a horse. Seems innocent enough, but then the officer that was sitting on top of the horse told him to knock it off. The kid refused and, instead of just walking away, punched the horse!!! The horsed reared onto its back legs in the middle of a huge crowd and the 21 year old equestrian terrorist was sent to jail for the night.
I have tons of problems with this shit. Has this kid never read “Black Beauty”? Of all the animals to punch, why pick a horse? Why not a cat? I’d punch a cat for sure. Actually, I take that back. The cat would likely be on the ground, so I would probably just kick it. I’d kick a cat no problem. You’ve got a cat? No questions asked, I will kick that thing. Same goes for cocky pigeons. But I would never kick a horse. I’m sure Pablo Fernandez wouldn’t kicked a horse either. That’s just asking for trouble. Trouble in the form of a hoove to the throat, if you know what I’m saying. The horse is just too big to get a good kick in. Really if you are going to attack a horse, punching is the way to go. Let’s see are there any animals out there that I would punch, rather than kick… well first, they would have to be out of my leg reach. You can kind of just slip in a quick squirrel kick without breaking stride, but any animal above the waistline is going to need some fist-attention. I mean obviously a human face would be a perfect target for my fist, ifitwereontherightperson. But this contest is strictly limited to the lesser animals. Maybe an ugly whale. I don’t think my fists have the force to penetrate the blubber, so I’d be safe from getting stuck in its intestinal goo. Though a whale punch seem somewhat anti-climatic. It’s like punching a big couch or a snowdrift. Maybe a walrus. Just POW! Punch a walrus right in the side of the head and walk away. I’ve always had something against walruses. Don’t they seem a little bit high and mighty? I think walruses kind of just lounge around thinking that they’re the “kings of the sea.” Fuck that. Emperor penguins are the kings of the sea and I would never punch an emperor penguin (because they’re back in the kicking category). I’d like to punch a walrus right off its high horse.
Still, there must be a better option…even though the more I think about it the more tantalizing punching a walrus becomes. How about this: I punch a cheetah while it’s on the move. Like that stipulation? A cheetah is running by at 65mph and KA-POW! a punch right in the side. Even the most lackluster punch would knock it off its feet at those speeds. Again, I would just walk away after impact. I guarantee that video would go viral.
But, nah, I like cheetahs enough. Not worth it. Plus, when am I going to find the time to do that. Come on Roy, think! There must be some punchable animal out there. Mhmm. You know what would really set people off? If I punched one of those guys from the new “Were The Wild Things Are” adaptation. People are already going nuts for this movie. I’m sure if I were to punch one of those totoro knock-offs people would be up in arms. Perhaps even more so if I punched the child star. But I don’t want to do any of that, I’m just saying I’m sure it would get quite a reaction. I need an animal that I could punch and people would be like, “Oh, OK, he punched a _____. I’m fine with that.” I’ve got it! A yellowjacket. I know it’s thinking outside the box, but stay with me here. Yesterday my brother and sister came running to me saying that there was a HUGE yellowjacket in the basement and I needed to kill it. Their definition of huge was 1-inch, which for a yellowjacket is pretty huge. So I went into the basement and killed the thing with a newspaper. But wouldn’t it have been cooler to just punched it dead? Nobody would ever bat an eyelash if I went around punching bugs into submission. Hiking through the woods I’d look like a paranoid schizophrenic, but really I’d just be getting rid of all the pesky mosquitoes.
What was I talking about? Oh right, the kid (re: person my age) who punched a horse:
No doubt he was running up to the beast to drunkenly get an I-Phone picture of himself petting it. It would prove to his Twitter following that he liked animals and justify his PETA t-shirt. If you are wasted enough to punch something, don’t punch the giant mammal punch the pig riding it. What made this guy make the jump from massage to brute force? Let’s be honest, do cops need anymore reason to distrust youngsters? If the cops up in my college town of New Paltz got word of this I’m sure they would invest in a whole fleet of ponies, with the hope that some idiot would punch one and they would get a chance to pelt a crowd of students with rubber bullets and electrified nets.
I should also point out that I have no reason to identify this kid as an authentic hipster. I just figured that since he was at Lollapalooza he must have been. I’ll also assume the name “Pablo Fernandez” was meant to be ironic and his actual name is Conrad Pinskey and he looks like this:
That snapshot isn’t even from “Look at this Fucking Hipster,” but when I came upon it a couple days ago I knew that I’d be able to use it for something before the week was done (and before anyone says, “Hey, that picture could just as easily be you”, let me rebut: 1) I don’t go to Music Festivals; 2) I would never wear that dumb outfit because it would draw too much attention to my failing biceps and irregularly tanned thighs; 3) I don’t dance with my eyes closed because I like to observe all the looks of astonishment and glee that my gyrations conjure.)
(One more point about that picture: What is the girl scoffing at? Yes she’s attractive enough, but she’s still got white nail polish, a little mermaid boob-mask and ruffled granny-panties….so I mean come on. At least the retard behind her is having a good time. Maybe she’s coming to the realization that she has chosen the wrong social-stereotype to adopt.)
OK. I don’t know how much more time I can devote to these morons.
The moral of the story: -Don’t try to punch something you’re not.
Categories: Lists Posted on August 12, 2009 By: Roy
I recently received a letter from DJ that urged me to go check out the video “Remember The Time” by the late-great Michael Jackson. Back in 6th grade I was really into Egypt. I’m not sure why. I guess I just like middle-eastern countries and wonders of the world. So, anyway, as I’m sure you know, when you get interested in something in 6th grade you end up getting an encyclopedic knowledge of it. Kids are just much better at devouring trivia. That’s why we all still know all the words to Smash Mouth’s “All Star” and Sugar Ray’s “Every Morning” (we do all know those words, right?). Like I was saying, I know pretty much everything there is to know about Egyptian culture….or so I thought! Here are five things I learned about Egyptian history from the “Remember The Time” music video:
5- Michael Jackson Is A Scholar On The Subject
Yes, I knew that Jackson was a fairly decent dancer, a brilliant mathematician and a crack-shot rifleman, but I did not know he was an Egyptian scholar. After watching this 9 plus minute video, I am CONVINCED that Michael knew everything I know about Egypt and much, much more. The first thing you notice in the video is how accurate the architecture is; let’s do a compare/ contrast.
Here’s a screen-shot from Michael’s video:
And (since they didn’t have cameras back then) here’s a screen-shot from the movie “Ten Commandments” (which must be accurate because it’s religious):
Obviously both films are working from the same historically accurate information (or stereotypes).
Jackson didn’t just do his homework on the architecture of the room, he also must have done massive research on his casting. When casting Ramesses The Great, Michael went with funny man Eddie Murphy. Perfect!
4- Egyptians Have Developed Lighter Colored Skin Since
I didn’t release this, but if Michael Jackson did it, it must be true. The “Remember The Time” video is littered with African American superstars. Namely, Michael Jackson, but also Eddie Murphy. And then how about David Bowie’s wife, Iman. More like Ihottie! Am I right? How about someone for those guys who don’t like music, comedy and girls? Bam, we’ve got Magic Johnson!! Then two more famous blacks guys I’ve never heard of: The Pharcyde and Tom “Tiny” Lister, Jr.
Well anyway, like I said, Michael must know Egypt a lot better than me, because I didn’t realize Egyptians were really that black. As I mentioned in the introduction to this piece, Egypt is a middle eastern country, though it is positioned on the tip of the African continent. I wonder why people can never cast Egyptians correct. In the Rugrat’s Passover special the Egyptians are white and in this video they are all black. Why aren’t they ever Arabian like they really are?
Really the only person in the video who looks even remotely Egyptian is Michael (thanks to his skin ailment). Take a look at some real Egyptians. These are the two most famous, their President and their Miss:
3- Ancient Egypt Didn’t Have A Problem With Feminism
Have you noticed how much control the queen in the video has? Now my knowledge of Egyptian culture tells me that Ramesses’s wife is named Nefertari. Or at least that was his principle wife…in other words his favorite out of the other seven wives he had. But man, Iman is empowered in this video! While being fanned by slaves she says, “Oh Eddie Murphy, entertain me!” The pharaoh immediately works to satisfied 1/8th of his wives.
Devils sticks dancer? Not entertained. Fire breather? Not entertained. Michael Jackson…
2- Brendan Fraser Had Nothing To Do With Ancient Egypt
I could have swore he did.
I’m not even going to elaborate. I think Brendan Fraser is just laughable on his own.
1- Michael Jackson Was There
Here’s the real kicker. Michael Jackson doesn’t just know a ton of shit about Egypt through years of research. He knows it from first hand experience! Believe it. Meg just wrote a post about how apparently god-like Michael is, well it looks like she was right. Michael Jackson is the reincarnate form of some Egyptian king. Take a look at this statue and tell me you don’t see the resemblance:
My only conclusion: Once Michael gets done with the complicated process of getting to the Egyptian underworld he will unleash a swarm of pestilence across the globe, eradicating anyone who does not own the “Dangerous” album.
Categories: The News Posted on July 15, 2009 By: DJ
Many of you may not know this, but I’m a pretty well-read guy. I’m not implying I’ve read any particular library of classic books – I’ve made it a point to never read a single Charles Dickens book no matter how many I was assigned throughout high school, I have a particular disdain for Ernest Hemmingway and, frankly James Joyce can suck my hog (I assume based solely on his name that he’s of the homosexual persuasion). However, I do read the news every day. The real news. The New York Times – not Metro NY, The Post, anything posted on CNN or any of that other silly hogwash. (Morris Day and) The Motherfucking Time(s). That shit is the MAD notes!
Anyway, I was reading an article yesterday about Michael Jackson’s memorial (Michael Jackson: The Memorial, rather) and I came to a phrase that was totally worthy of a tweet, however Twitter tells me “Arrow_on_red” and to “watch a video,” which I never do. So, unable to share this hilarity in my normal manner for quips of such insignificance, I decided to let it stir for an entire day and be evacuated from my body in a long form post. My original tweet will be followed by my elaboration:
yesterday the ny times referred to the michael jackson memorial as an ‘orgy of mourning’ http://bit.ly/ZSqkY sounds like an awful goth band
(Note how I refuse to use proper punctuation for my tweets.)
Indeed, Alessandra Stanley decided to equate the ramblings of a bunch of aging stars and the sobbing of a child to a sex act involving three or more people. For this, I cannot fault her. I’m almost positive it’s the first time I’ve ever laughed while reading the Times – unfortunately for me, I was drinking hot coffee and ended up with second degree burns inside my nose, but that’s neither here nor there. What I can fault her for, is the exact words she used. An orgy of mourning carries a ton of possible connotations. For one, had her left pinky slipped and hit the shift key, she would have ended up with an “orgy of Mourning,” conjuring images of retired Miami Heat basketball star Alonzo Mourning having all kinds of kinky sex with other people with the last name Mourning.
As my tweet above will inform you, though, this was not my initial reaction. At first, I thought it sounded like a bad high school “goth” band. Honestly, I’m not entirely sure what the term goth actually means. In middle school I know we used to call anyone who listened to KoRn goth. I don’t think I used it in high school, but if I did, I’m relatively certain it was in reference to the fat asses who watched Anime (and by association Hentai). In college, I realized both the definitions were wrong as I became more entrenched in what I know as “metal” and listened to idiot girls refer to other idiot girls who happened to be wearing a black t-shirt as goth.
Now, I tend to associate it with darker rock acts and (at the risk of upsetting either a frigheningly fat or skinny mongrel of an outcast) some more feminine black metal acts and people who still insist on wearing trench coats and ponytails. (Ghaal, I’m looking directly at you.) With that, let me set the scene for how Orgy of Mourning came to be:
Greg Schmidt (or Devastatorious as he liked to be called, not realizing how retarded and off-base it was) was a skinny lad, aged 15. At one time, he was very much into N*SYNC, but never told anyone. As a direct result, he was driven head first by the denial of his own homosexuality to black metal. First it was just once in a while, when he was bored of his Metallica CDs, but with the advent of high speed Internet and P2P networks, he found he needed to own and know everything about every band ever, which brought him to his current position in life – trolling message boards, blogs and news sites to point out whenever someone forgot to mention the latest Abigail Williams release.
One particularly rainy afternoon, Devastatorious was ham-handedly playing something resembling a ham-handed Mayhem song on his Line6 Pod Pro, which he got on eBay for “like half of list price.” As he came to what some would call a chorus, his buddy Mike Shea (Khhal for our purposes) came running down with a great idea, “Let’s start our own band!” Of course, this sounded like a great idea to Devastatorious. “Ok, well first things first – we need a totally bitchin’ name,” he explained.
“Well, yeah of course. What should we call ourselves?”
“The most dark and hardcore thing ever.”
“Nothing was darker than when my mother mourned the loss of Sprinkles (the shivering family Teacup Something or other).”
“Fuck yeah, the idea of mourning is deep as hell.”
“What else should we include?”
“How about something sexual? Not because we’ll end up having sex six months from now, or anything.”
As he said this, Greg shot a look to the right to avoid eye contact with his new bandmate. Mike continued looking at him awkwardly for a moment before breaking the silence:
“This might not be cool, but check it out.”
“Remember that totally gay band from back in the day Orgy.”
“Yea, they suck.” No they don’t, he thought to himself.
“Well, how about we take ‘Orgy’ back and make it cool again?”
As if they had both sprung rods simultaneously, Greg and Mike looked up from their in-progress black painted nails and exclaimed triumphantly:
Everyone has heard the sad news about Michael Jackson and I like to think that everyone was at least somewhat saddened. I mean if you don’t like Michael Jackson songs, then what’s the point? While everyone was upset, some people, some very deeply devoted fans, were nothing short of devastated…physically , emotionally, spiritually. One of these people was our good friend Megan Riebesell. She won’t be able to see Michael in London this summer, but the least we could do was let her share some words with you. – Roy
Hello. My name is Megan Riebesell and I am here to talk to you about the biggest tragedy this planet has ever seen. As you must have figured out by now, I’m referring to the death of Michael Joseph Jackson. During this period of confusion, referred to by psychologists as “Stage 1: Denial” in the model for the five stages of grief, it is hard for people to see clearly to the issue at hand. In hopes that this article will make it easier to cope, at least for the mere few it may reach, I am going to use this forum to share some of my experiences with Michael, and discuss how his passing has affected me, Megan Riebesell.
It was obvious from a young age that Michael was probably not supposed to have ended up on earth. Something went wrong, somebody messed something up. Whoopsies! Typo, wrong planet, something like that. People kind of started to realize this when the J5 made their first appearance on Ed Sullivan in 69. If you saw this you’d probably notice what could develop into a debilitating overload of soul and groove. Certainly too much to be contained by the small, frail body of an11 year old. If you went even further and watched this one you’d additionally notice that he’s not moving the way that a child who probably just advanced to having legible handwriting should move.
So lots of people were sort of catching on, J5 ruled with 4 consecutive number one hits on the billboard chart, which was the first time this had ever happened. I have to assume that people who actually lived through his emergence were desperately rationalizing: “Okay this kid will probably grow out of it in like 4 years when he’s a fucked up teenage mess.” I think a lot of people would have been more comfortable with that scenario.
Instead, Michael decided to fucking unleash his maniac talent on everyone full throttle. By the time when most kid stars would start to totally burn themselves out, realizing they completely missed out on childhood and collapsing beneath the pressure of the limelight and everything, Michael invented a new way of dealing with all of it. He figured since he was irreversibly damaged and would probably never fully work through it, he might as well use the one thing he did get out of it, which was being raised as a fucking psychotic perfectionist. So he decided to just like create everything. He focused all of his dysfunctional shit as well as his superhuman talent-energy, and took music and entertainment to a level that didn’t even exist yet. Flawlessly. Pretty much: wake up, think of the bass line to Billie Jean, brush your teeth, oh start doing THE MOONWALK, um go downstairs, grab a banana, redefine music videos , and then finally head off to work at the studio inventing pop music, etc. Day in the life of MJ. No biggy.
By 1994, Michael has already released Thriller, which is still the top selling record of all time, and is onto his 4th best selling album already (and has done all that other shit that you’ll wikipedia later.) People as a whole are immersed in the new world of entertainment he has created. I’m starting to feel a little weird about how many consecutive times I can jump all over my couches screaming to the Free Willy theme and still get emotional at the end. Ironically enough, this is around the point when everyone starts to turn on him. He’s just doing his thing, inventing everything that people ever like ever so that everyone can copy him forever. Yea, he’s fucking crazy as fuck considering everything, but he’s still just pumping all of that into amazing visual and auditory masterpieces for the whole world to enjoy. He’s touring selling out shows on every continent by now and it’s a little bit daunting for humans to discover that one being can pretty much hypnotize a good amount of their entire species at one time. It’s to the extent where an alarming amount of people literally become incapacitated or unconscious, sometimes needing medical attention, when in his presence. I mean yea, I know, Beatlemania and everything, but seriously this is different. Full grown men had to be lifted out of the crowd, sobbing and hysterical. The physical reactions people had just to seeing him on stage was unsettling. Humans detected an unmistakable cause for concern.
If you’re going to watch one video in this post, watch this one. With the lights off.
Everyone flipped out when they realized Michael Jackson had too much power over the human race. So we just did the thing where we criticize someone until we bring them down to our level. We thought it was weird that he was had a chimp named Bubbles, wanted to buy the elephant man bones, made his house into a peter pan amusement park, cried at the end of Men in Black, etc. Personally, I don’t see what’s so weird about being a fucking CRAZY person after having a dramatically shitty life, and having to be a vessel for all of those insane songs and dance moves that needed to reach earth somehow. As a matter of fact, I’m pretty confident that a normal, psychologically sound person would not be capable of even one of his countless feats. Still, most people were feeling uneasy about the whole situation. We felt compelled to exploit all of his quirks until we had completely forgotten about all of his contributions. On top of being the victim of a really unfortunate skin disease analysts agreed that MJ suffered from another shitty condition, body dimorphic disorder. Jeez, what a weirdo, feeling like he needs to change his physical appearance. Anyway, as it turned out, no one could see past his physical appearance, so his music became secondary to gossip about his strange lifestyle, and he was slandered for the rest of his life. After this, Michael decided that he would rather hang around chimps and little kids only. Again, to me this seems like a pretty basic cause-and-effect type situation we have here. However, the masterminds of mankind determined that he must have been molesting kids. Not the monkey though, oddly enough.
So somehow by the time his last album hit, which was of course no Thriller, but still better than most things, lots of people were too embarrassed to go into a record store (remember those?) and ring up the latest from the world’s most renowned child-molester at the time. And who could blame us? The trials got way more publicity than, lets say, when he founded the Heal the World foundation, whose mission was to provide medicine to children and fight world hunger, homelessness, child exploitation and abuse. Or his being a major contributor to 39 additional charities in his career. They got even more coverage than when all of the profits from smash hits “Man in the Mirror” and “Heal the World” went to charity. Probably even more well known than the “We are the World” video, which he coordinated, gathering the biggest musicians at the time to record a song that raised millions of dollars for famine relief. Or how on the 123-show world tour for “Bad” he invited underprivileged children to watch for free and sing with him on stage, and then gave donations to local hospitals, orphanages and other charities in every place he visited. The trials, which were unsuccessful in providing any actual evidence of molestation, are still more widely acknowledged than how the “Dangerous” world tour, where he danced like a fucking maniac for 65 shows and then gave all of the proceeds, I repeat, all, ALL of them to Heal the World. After that he sold the broadcast rights for the show to HBO, took that money and put it towards HIV/AIDS research. And remember when his afro caught on fire during the filming for that Pepsi commercial? Haha ha ha!! Guess what? He took the money from that lawsuit and gave it to the hospital where he was treated and started a burn ward for research and technology in severe burn treatment. Then he got plastic surgery because he was self-conscious about his scalp and we made fun of him for the rest of his life. And said that he touches babies.
So after trying to withdraw from the public eye, (unsuccessfully, as tons of brilliant journalists and psychoanalysts made whole careers out of obsessing over his weirdness) Michael comes back at the world and announces “THIS IS IT.” A 50- show tour taking place at the 02 stadium in London, possibly his last performance ever. In tradition of MJ, he had invented some kind of crazy 3-D background scheme that would transform the experience of seeing a live concert. He committed to giving the world one last show, granting everyone the chance to forget all about the baby-dangling and plastic surgeries and just enjoy the fucking immaculate presentation of all of the songs that make everyone dance no matter where they are. He agreed to subject his 50 year old body to putting on 50 more seizure-inducing performances which would have allowed millions of people to enjoy the same magic that had possessed them for decades. It would have given millions the opportunity to experience the intense, uplifting energy that looks more powerful and mind-altering than any drug trip. An experience that is unexplainable, but proven by concert footage of full grown adults losing the ability to hold themselves up. I was going to be one of these people.
Michael Jackson has left behind a whole world of humans who were touched by his timeless legacy. I’m sure that even those of you who didn’t spend $750 on airfare to London have the same feeling of emptiness in your lives as I do right now. But remember, we are all in this together. Take advantage of your neighbors and comrades who have probably all have attempted the moonwalk at one time or another, and might need someone to commiserate. Talking it out feels good. Even if it leads to both parties drunkenly agreeing that Michael Jackson was more important than Jesus, or the holocaust, and then the conversation becomes a little uncomfortable. Just get it all out. Letting yourself come to terms with how you feel will help you to reach the final step in the grieving process: Acceptance. Make this tragedy easier for yourself and those around you. Heal the world. It’s what Michael would have wanted us to do. We’re all going to get through this.