I know the media can’t resist a good Michael Jackson story. Or even a bad one, as those of you who remember the New York Post’s headline “Jacko On His Back-o” can attest. But can I please stop seeing pictures of that freaky ghoul every time I sign on to check my e-mail, open a frickin’ magazine, and or turn on the TV? There’s so little of his original face left that he seriously looks undead. It reminds me of the first time I went to Las Vegas and was confronted by a 50-foot billboard of Siegfried and Roy looking like a pair of liches. If seeing huge renditions the walking dead duo was supposed to entice to me to see their show, it did not work (although Nik and I did visit their hilariously named “Secret Garden” to see the tigers).
Is Jackson a child molester? Hell if I know. His “Neverland” surely must make one raise an eyebrow. At this point, with all the allegations and all the hush up money, the cops either need to prove something or vindicate the guy. Maybe he’s just a rich freak, I don’t know. I do know that “freak engages in freaky behavior” is not news.