The giant ferris wheels, the roller coasters, the hyperbaric chamber, The Elephant Man's bones, the fake marriage to Elvis's daughter, the plastic surgeries, the lawsuits, the irresponsible spending, the baby dangling, the surgical masks, the monkeys, the moonwalk, the hoo-hoo, the Jesus Juice, the little boy slumber parties... it's all over.
Michael Jackson is dead.
As I was pulling out of work today (5:15 eastern) I heard them announce on the radio that Jackson was reportedly taken to a hospital for cardiac arrest, via a source at
TMZ. Within an hour and a half, it was confirmed he had died.
I'm not sure what to say. On one hand, it's sad to hear when anyone dies. On the other hand, I'm not really all that choked up about it. Probably due to the fact that I just don't know whether he was diddling little kids or what. I mean, the man never seemed to be on the up-and-up when it came to the rationale behind why he spent so much time with little boys. It always seemed suspicious.
I'm old enough to remember what I was doing the day Elvis died. It was a pretty huge deal. This is too. You don't get bigger than Michael Jackson. Whether you want to believe the guy was a pedophile or not (and how can we know with 100% certainty), there's no disputing his legendary talent and the mark he made on pop culture.
Rest assured the days that follow will consist of non-stop media coverage the likes of which have rarely been seen. The space shuttle, the Reagan assassination attempt, 9/11, and the death of Michael Jackson... there are few things this big. Did he O.D.? Was it suicide? Or did he just drop because he weighed something like 120 lbs? Conspiracy nuts are already drooling at the possibility he may have faked his own death to escape his torment. We may never know for sure.
One thing I am sure of is that we will be hearing all sorts of dark, seedy details about his bizarre lifestyle in the days and months ahead.
Billy Mays is dead. And no, he didn't O.D. on Just For Men beard coloring.
