Is Michael Still Dead?

Here's a post in my old blog, way back in 1998. I forgot what a lunatic I was.

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Saturday, February 7, 1998, 7:17 am - Interview with Michael!

Bastard fans! An amazing coup! Through a relentless campaign of spam, harrassing phone calls and mass-mailings, the Bastard managed to secure an interview with Michael Jackson!

It's exclusive - in return for the interview, the Bastard agreed to "go away and never fucking bother Mr. Jackson or come within 50 miles of his person or property"- and it's hot.

Feb. 4, 11 am B.S.T., poolside at Neverland ranch. The Bastard has been sitting for two and a half hours in the now-baking morning sun in a sumptuous rubber deck chair, making obscene doodles of Michael touching small animals in his notepad and blowing kisses at Gunther the pool guard every so often, just to watch him blush uncontrollably, flex his tanned biceps and unconsciously check his "bulge."

Suddenly, a large group of people round the edge of the cabaña - fifty or sixty, at least. It's Michael's entourage!

The head "bodyguard," a stocky, muscular young man called Hans, stops the throng a little bit away from the Bastard's table with an "Okay, kids, now it's time to play with your Beanie Babies and not bother Michael. Yes, Satchel, it's okay to play with Dylan - no, don't wipe your hands on your shirt - here, let me help you." A moment later, there's an "Ooooo!" of frustration. Hans certainly has his hands full.

And then, well, then Michael himself appears, looking resplendent in a gold-lamé Arab headdress. We settle down to the interview. Michael sips a tall glass of bleach while the Bastard starts guzzling Jack Daniels.

The Bastard: Michael, I understand you're an inventor as well as the charismatic, nimble-fingered leader of roving bands of small-waisted 11-year-old boys of all nationalities.

Michael, his characteristic high-pitched murmur relaxed and friendly: Yes, yes. But please don't call them boys. They're children! They're all my children.

The Bastard: I stand corrected! Or rather, I sit corrected. I sit corrected and I stand on my honor. Oh, Michael, don't you just know how much the Bastard fans are going to appreciate this interview?

Michael: My hands go out to every one of them.

The Bastard: Michael, you know what we're all here for, I'm sure . . . uh, could you just give us a glimpse of it?

Michael: The Ranch is here for all humanity to enjoy. There's Jacko the chimpanzee - I prefer "primate" because humans are so close in brain structure, you know - and Audrey the Ostrich, she's, well, a little temperamental . . . (gets far-away look in eyes) and DeVon . . . he's going to be twelve on Thursday . . . remind me to get him one of those Elmo things . . . DeVon's always fighting with Joel these days (*sigh*) . . can you believe Joel doesn't like his pillow to touch Edwigg's? They're SUCH a pain in the . . . uhh . . . what was your question again?

The Bastard: Michael, don't play coy! (leans forward conspiratorially) The Tickler! The Tickler! Everyone wants to see the Tickler!

Michael (a cool shadow crossing his neatly-sculptured features): My hands go out to every one of them. There are private parts of my life that I wish to keep private. The allegations . . . the allegations! I deny the allegations. Those who know me will support me against these cruel allegations . . . my dear friend Elizabeth Taylor, you know, she came to Edwigg's eighth birthday party - that was the night Robbie argued with Gabor about who got the middle of the bed, you know, that's how I remember it . . . all these horrible rumors . . .I DENY them all . . . (slight sound of sobbing. Bodyguards move in and firmly escort the Bastard away.)

Sorry, folks!! The Bastard obviously fucked up and asked The Wrong Question. He's going to try again - and be assured this time he will do everything in his power to continue to try to get you a look at the Wiggly Bum- tickler . . . stay tuned!!