Michael Jackson

He's dead. Did you hear? Maybe not, there hasn't been a lot of media coverage. Apparently there is some mystery surrounding the events of his death. Pills? Drugs? Captain Hook? Will we ever know?

Here's what we do know: If his children (holy crap he had children?!) were not well adjusted previously, I'm sure mourning their father in front of millions, on stage with Brook Shields, Corey Feldman (or the other? both?) and Bubbles the Monkey will actually be very therapeutic. They probably avoided years and years of potential therapy. Hmm. I wonder if the family even knows a doctor? Poor little Blanket.

Hey, did you know that MJ's dad owns a record label? Yeah, I know because he mentioned it in the first interview he conducted the day after his son died. Seemed appropriate. Well, at least Janet's wardrobe functioned properly at the funeral.

The honest fact we have all ignored, however, is that, whatever the true cause of death was is irrelevant. We killed Michael Jackson. That's right. You and I. We are murderers. Think about it. Could this have ended any other way? Would we have been satisfied if he had a successful comeback tour, free of controversy and boy-touching? If he aged gracefully, with no major court cases and deformed-bone collecting? Don't think so. We needed Michael, our wacked-out court jester, to go out in a media frenzied blaze of glory. We would have it no other way. We might as well have held him down and poured the oxy-xanax-fairy dust down his throat ourselves. We killed him. If he hadn't died the night before his tour, we would have found something, anything, to haunt him with until he reached his inevitable end. Maybe he wouldn't be that good. Maybe his comeback would be all groggy and Brittany-like. Maybe his voice wasn't that good any more. Whatever. We would have found something, then attacked him with it until he reached this inevitable end. It had to end this way, we wouldn't have it any other way.

And now that the deed it done, and we seem to have gotten away with it, is it over? Of course not. It's just beginning. Just like the coroner's report of Anna Nicole, which publically declared she had an 'Unremarkable Anus', we will not stop until we know every littly detail possible about the last moments of Michael's anus. Hell, we already made him endure photographing 'the little Jackson' and talking about it on TV to clear his name of pedophilia. Come on, we all knew that it was a scam to get money out of him, but we went with it. We all knew he's not a pedophile, he's just a little insane.

Now what? Does he get the Elvis treatment? Do we continue to make him the butt of all our jokes, while reconciling it in our own minds by simultaneoulsy declaring his genius?

Sure. I'll visit Neverland. Graceland is pretty boring.