I'm sorry to say that one year later Michael Jackson is still totally dead. It wasn't an elaborate ruse, like so many of us hoped, but rather an actual, 100% authentic death brought on by massive amounts of ill-gotten narcotics administered to him by a subhuman quack. Jackson is gone and the sooner ya'll can deal with it the better. You don't have to throw away your officially licensed MJ Bobbleheads or homemade sparkly gloves, but putting them in storage might be a step in the right direction to recovery. Spend the day listening to your favorite Michael songs (I'll have the soundtrack to Captain Eo on repeat myself) and then, I don't know, move on to someone more, well, alive.
As far as I know, on the day Michael died, I was the only "journalist" asking, "What about Bubbles? Has someone told Bubbles the bad news? Dammit, won't someone think about Bubbles!?" Well, it turns out someone was thinking about Bubbles. Unfortunately for Bubbles, it was LaToya Jackson. Her emotional reunion with Jackson's chimpanzee ward was caught on tape by Animal Planet cameramen for a special entitled Michael Jackson & Bubbles: The Untold Story, and it went a little something like this:
I can't tell. Is Bubbles...
A. too pissed off to look LaToya in the eyes because he hasn't stopped thinking about the day the Jackson's dumped him off at the chimp reserve when he got too big to wear his miniature Michael Jackson costumes?
B. wondering why the lady crying in his face and repeating his name over and over isn't serving him lunch?
C. utterly confused ("They told me Michael was dead, but he's standing here right in front of me. What gives?")?
D. farting?
Anyway, celebrate the life of Michael Jackson any way you want to today. Then shut the hell up about it, OK?
