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Michael Jackson: A Retrospective From The Eyes Of A True Believer

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.

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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.

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Mario Armando Lavandeira, My Heart Goes Out To You

Most readers are probably expecting me to bash Perez Hilton over the upsetting video he posted in regard to the savage beating he apparently suffered the other night. Well, expect no more! Here it is.

For those who aren’t aware of what happened, here’s the brave little man explaining the situation in his own words. For those who rightfully don’t give a rat’s ass about what this pansy does or says, please bear with me on this one. I guess at some point over the weekend some music thing happened and at an after-party, poorly named rapper Will.I.Am of the Black Eye Peas approached Mz. Hilton and politely requested “in the future, can you please be a pal and not post anything at all about my band?” to which Mario Armando Lavandeira replied (and this is somewhat accurate): “Not if my life depended on it. Fuck you in your gay ass, you faggot scum.” Shortly thereafter an event occured that was a surprise to no one except Mr. Lavandeira – he got repeatedly punched in the face by someone associated with Will.I.Am.

I have no problem with Perez Hilton – if you can make a living off adding poorly drawn dicks to pictures, I’m all for it. In fact, I used to read his blod fairly often, when I was a younger, dumber asshole than I am today. But for him to be shocked that someone finally decided to take a swing at him is absolutely fucking insane. And to twitter people to call the police for him is more outrageous than him parading around like some sort of gay activist. This jackass could very well be the poster boy for why gay marriage is not legal throughout the United States.

So anyway, in tribute to the site that will one day be featured on “I Love June through October 2007″ on VH1, I decided to make some pictures myself, and instead of just attaching some lame attempt at sounding in-the-know like Perez so often does, I’ll elaborate on my art for my faithful readers. Here goes nothing…

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When did looking like the Dutch Boy Paint mascot become fashionable?

A nice easy one down the middle for ya. It’s simple and very direct. In my opinion (and the opinion of roughly 100% of the rest of the American population), anyone who wears a shower cap and a faux-fur coat anywhere outside of his own panic room should have the word “ASS” tattooed on their awful forehead. An earlier draft of this picture has the showercap providing him shelter from a cum-storm. Ultimately, I felt that if I wanted the word “ASS” to have the biggest possible impact I should just give it the spotlight.

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I know he’s under the impression that he’s a skinny gay guy now, but Mario, or Mary as I like to call him around the pool house, used to be a big fat bitch. My girlfriend and I recently took a trip to the desolate wasteland of the American Mid-West and made a stop at the Columbus Zoo, which was actually pretty cool. The best part? The freakishly giant nipples on the nursing gorillas. The worst part? Waking up from our mescaline-induced coma to realize we weren’t anywhere near Columbus and in reality we had been ogling Perez Hilton shirtless on Fire Island.

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I made this one in case you couldn’t put together the last joke on your own.

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Both taken at Wal-Mart while the creepy photographer pulled a wrinkled coin purse out of the secret pocket in the front of his trousers and offered Perez a giant sucker if he would take pictures like a nice boy.

One of my favorite things to do in my own posts is to take pictures of things that are similiar and just mush ‘em together. I think it’s a more effective way of getting my point across than trying to actually explain it to the jobless retards intelligent, contributing-to-society socialites who read this blog. This one may be a first though. I’ve compared Barack Obama to Andy Dufresne, a shitbag D.A. to Louie Anderson, etc., but I’ve never encountered a douche so awful it would be an insult to compare him to himself.

This really needed to happen though. I have a friend who always flashes the same half-hearted smile when someone takes a picture of her and I give her endless amounts of shit for it. Luck for Perez, I’m feeling a bit under the weather today (homophobia::SNIFF:: ) and I’m afraid if I give him any sort of access to my asshole, I won’t be able to sit for a week or so…

Also, I think the “(ANALLY)” added to “Tame Me” is fucking hysterical. If you don’t agree, close your browser and remove your sex organs with a bicycle chain.

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This one’s a bit more on track. After I showed mind boggling amount of restraint I displayed in the “ASS” photo, I decided to let it all hang out on this one. And by “all” I mean a half a dozen dicks either entering or sprouting from a particularly close-up bust of Lavandeira. For some reason, this picture reminds me of the only time my mother caught me masturbating. Weird.

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One thing I have a huge problem with in Perez Hilton’s pictures is his lack of wit when it comes to the text. “EW” “ACK” and “YUMMY” are not good enough indicator of how he feels about a particular celebrity or how other people might imagine that celebrity views him or herself. I took the opportunity to spell out to Perez what his (hopefully dead and therefore no longer able to reproduce) parents probably think of him. Nothing.

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Finally, I think this is truly my pinnacle as a fuckstick celebrity blogger. I mean, comparing Perez Hilton in the previous pictures to the Dutch Boy Paint mascot, a gorilla, and himself were all pretty genius, but to come up with John “who?” Daly was a stroke of genius. Then, to take those two similar pictures and pit them against one another just took everything to the next level.

For those of you who don’t know, John Daly is a pathetic shell of a professional golfer who actually has an alcoholic drink named after him (it’s also known as a Dirty Arnold Palmer, but that’s for another obviously hilarious post). In my opinion, in his never ending quest to get fucked up, John Daly has displayed more backbone and a more winning attitude than Mario Armando Lavandeira ever has or ever will.

Perez Hilton, I sincerely hope you die. Soon.

Here’s a gallery of all the previous pictures plus 13 that Roy added:

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Picture 1 of 20

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Podcast 50: Was This Supposed To Be A Milestone

Hey all,

This week we had a packed house as Patty, Roy, James and I gingerly sipped alcohol in a dingy basement. This week’s topics included the supposed Rihanna sex tape which stars an actress who looks nothing like Rihanna, a week old puppy getting flushed down the toilet, Patty’s impending death on her way to Oregon and some other shit too…

 

Click here for .mp3

Oh and we watched this video:

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Iran’s Election Was Rigged? Prove It.

It’s my understanding that we have a lot of international readers. So for their benefit, I’ll briefly describe what we in American call an “election.” You see, once every few years, when hack comedians run out of bad jokes about our beloved president, another man challenges his throne. Then we watch “pundits” bicker about the merits of these two men on TV for about three years. When the American people decide they can’t take it anymore, the men choose other men as their partners through civil union and the pundits argue about the partners’ merits for another six months or so. Finally, if the groundhog doesn’t see its shadow, three states get to choose who our next president will be. This year, the man who won wore black face in tribute to the great minstrels of our country’s glorious past. Of course, he’s not any different than you or me or the last president, for that matter.

Apparently they’re holding erections in Iran now- Did I jus- HAHAHAHAHAHA. OHHHHH WHEW! Wow… that was crazy. Iran is holding elections over there now. As with any election, this one has had its fair share of problems. Held on Friday(?), the elections were really important, I guess. According to some reliable sources, Iran has been fucking around with nuclear weapons, or something. Unlike in the good old US of A, the Iranians couldn’t choke down the cold hard facts. Instead of realizing that they are a silly display not unlike the WWE, Iranians expected the words “change” and “hope” to actually mean something. It’s like they believe every movie they see over there. In their defense, there are only three movies available in Iran and they’re all documentaries.

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You really want the Iranian Steven Spielberg running your country? Didn’t you see the last Indiana Jones?

So, in an unprecedented display of machismo and huge fucking nuts (being the opposite of giant, crying, pussy), Presidential Candidate Mir Hossein Moussavi claimed the elections were rigged in favor of current President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad. To be honest, I don’t see it. I mean President Ahmadinejad did get 62% of the vote (a total of 13 voters made up mostly of his own staff) versus 33% for Moussavi and the obligatory 5% of crazies split between Ron Paul and Ralph Nader.  Mr. Moussavi, you should be ashamed of yourself. Seriously, your country is suffering from riots, its citizens are having their rights taken away and war with a super power is imminent and all you can think about is how you didn’t win an election? What are you going to tell me next, that this Pall Mall 100 isn’t going to soothe my sore throat? Puh-lease!

You see, here in America, we accept the harsh truth that a puppet government forces us to – we have no control over what happens ever. So what? You want to be burdened with making decisions which might affect someone other than yourself? Say Moussavi got elected and turned out to be a total nutjob and didn’t wear pants to work every day. You want to be responsible for that? Didn’t think so. A wise ex-English teacher once taught me a valuable lesson: the devil you know is better than the devil you don’t. Which generally holds true, unless that devil has demonstrated his inability to lead or string together coherent thoughts time and time again, James.

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This guy gets shit done.

The point is this – it doesn’t matter and it never will. In fact, I’m fairly certain that every event I just mentioned was entirely fabricated by the media for their own amusement. No shit. For instance, I caught Anderson Cooper saying the following at dinner the other night:

We make everything up. There are more factual events taking place on Spike’s Deadliest Warrior.

I may or may not have actually heard that at dinner the other night. Come to think of it, I’ve never even met Anderson Cooper, but I did once hear his voice set to ominous music in a documentary on Google Video, so he might as well have been sitting in my living room revealing all his dirty, silver haired secrets, of which I’m sure there are many. According to some of his peers, that old queen hides a secret about as well as an elephant hides its trunk.

In the end, what will probably happen is the American people will once again be forced to watch the same view of the Missile Command championships in night-vision on CNN, ABC, NBC, Fox, CBS (yeah, assholes, you got listed after Fox), and a plethora of other shit-stain networks as our country bombs the fuck out of Iran for one reason or another. After two weeks of that, it’ll probably be football season and, frankly, most of us can’t be bothered – with the way the league is shaping up this year (what drama!), who could even blame us? Football rules and Iran drools.

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It’s A Little Outrageous That The Stores Attached To Bowling Alleys Are Called ‘Pro-Shops’

I passed a bowling alley today and noticed that attached to the building was a very interesting looking store. It was called the “Pro Shop.” Now, I consider myself to be a pro in most aspects of life so, naturally, I walked inside to see what was the dealio (pro-talk for ‘situation’). Much to my chagrin (pro-talk for the sudden embarrassment upon realizing I am a bowling ball store ) I found that I was not in a pro store, I was in a bowling ball store. Whoever came up with the audacious idea to start calling bowling ball suppliers “pro” must have been a real marketing genius, but I think its high-time that this practice be ended.

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There are only two pro things about this picture

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Sweat Lodge: A Review

This past weekend my good friend Luke sent me a wake up call, asking if I would like to go with him to a sweet lodge. I thought to myself, “Yikes, this is going to severely interfere with my Saturday afternoon calisthenics routine down by the sound,” but then I thought “Aw heck, I’ll go anyway. After all, this sweet lodge sounds pretty sweet.” Twenty minutes and an orange later, I was in Luke’s hotrod, on my way to the sweet lodge. Little did I know, I was in for one of the sweatiest days of my life.

Why was my day sweat-drenched? It all comes down to a simple mis-communication. I thought that Luke, who has a very strong and noticeable Staten Island accent, said SWEET lodge, but in reality he had said SWEAT lodge. Though the difference here is only one letter (that letter being A) the implications are significant. What did I expect? I imagined a lovely gingerbread house, with candy cane gutters, a twizzler garden hose and a gumball compost pile out back. I pictured a nice little candy lodge, something straight out of Hansel and Gretel. Well, the experience was like Hansel and Gretel…in the sense that I felt trapped in an oven for two hours.

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Top 10 Reasons Madonna Should Adopt Me Over A Kid From Malawi

So Madonna is planning to adopt another kid from Malawi. Unbelievable! If anyone needs a little TLC it’s Uncle Chachi. I mean Christ, it’s not like these kids are dodging bullets or eating out of dumpsters on a daily basis. If I have my facts straight, their whole life is one huge game of intramural soccer. Anyway, if you’re reading this Madonna, here are the top ten reasons you should select to adopt me, the Baron Von Chachska, instead of another boring Malawi snoozefest:

  1. The water in Africa is cleaner than the water in Philadelphia. While Simba erotically washes Nala in majestic jungle streams, I am forced shower in my neighbor’s fecal matter on a daily basis.
  2. I’m a way bigger fan of yours than any Malawian child. I rocked “Dress You Up In My Love” so hard that I was voted junior prom queen in the seventh grade.
  3. I smell worse than the entire nation of Malawi. I’m sure the African child of your choice doesn’t exactly carry the scent of freshly picked petunias, but I make the homeless smell like freshly squeezed lemon.
  4. I only pick my nose sometimes.
  5. I appreciate the “Ray of Light” music video in ways they will never understand.
  6. My breakfast talents cannot be matched. Go ahead and choose another African kid. Hope you fancy burnt eggs with a side steel toast. Bon Appetite!
  7. I don’t eat bugs
  8. I’m vaccinated. Wouldn’t want the princess of pop catching polio would we?
  9. I hear there’s a promo poster for Lock Stock & Two Smoking Barrels hanging in the Malawi embassy. Fuck Guy Ritchie!
  10. I do a great Jack Nicholson impersonation. Oh and I’m sure your Malawi wonder boy does a kiler Brando
  11. [ad]

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