So... Michael Jackson died of a massive heart attack this Thursday, which means that his reanimated corpse should be ungraving itself + beginning the hunt for braaaaainnsssss by no later than the July 4th weekend, hopefully making for a truly spectacular Independence Day celebration... Thriller, indeed!
An established pop superstar and self-designated King of Pop, the last years of his life were mired in controversies surrounding his finances, the actual nature of his relationships with his wives + children, and the actual nature of his relationships with a whole bunch of other people's children. Ah... Days of Settlements and Accusations...
Sadly, Jackson never seemed to come to grips with the death of his career in the 1990s, instead flailing madly into a couple of disturbing marriages with some truly skoojy women + dangling his children precariously from balconies... A far fall from duets with Paul McCartney ("Oi... I'll trade you a one-legged woman for my song rights...") and guest solos by Eddie Van Halen ("Valerie Who???")
He is survived by a bunch of fans who seem to have just been thawed from late-1980s cryogenic sleeptanks, his family, and a duofold legacy as established pop icon and suspected pedophile that will elevate + haunt him in the world's consciousness.
(That is, at least 'til the next celebrity dies... The media-driven mourning for Ed McMahon was preempted rather abruptly + poor Farrah Fawcett never even had a chance at the newscycle... and you know that's lame, cuz if you are a straight guy age 35-50, you - or yr older brother - owned this poster!!)