So, I was going to write a short, witty little bit about the Notorious M.J. written from the viewpoint of Blanket, his young son.

too easy.

and too sad. All everyone has talked about for the last two days is the King of Crazy. I think everyone should just go back to wars and famine and the health care crisis. Topics that really lift spirits, right?

My Theory

Although everyone on the face of the friggin planet calls Michael Jackson crazy, I think we are all secretly ENCOURAGED by his masks and his love of monkeys, and his ever-changing pointiness in the nose area, and his extreme-ness. Why?

Because we are not him.

(dramatic pause)

We are (god-willing) far from his level of insanity, wackiness, ORWHATEVER you want to call it.

And we feel better about ourselves and our normal problems when we see his plastic face try to emit plastic tears as he describes his "normal" relationship to children.

And I'm spent. Moratorium on MJ. No more.

Until we have a crappy day, and start to feel sorry for ourselves.

Then, let's discuss his fascination with Peter Pan.

Word.

Ty-Diddy