July 15, 2009
I bet my friend Leisha that I would die before her. She took the bet. $10.
The bet came about because a facebook quiz said he would die after me. But there was no bacon question. And I eat a lot of bacon.
Scientists say bacon is unhealthy. Scientists know a lot. So why do I eat bacon?
That's right, 1975 prediction of GLOBAL COOLING!
So, I’m trusting that in 2030, they’ll discover bacon is good for me. And I’ll lose the bet. But she’ll be dead and I won’t be able to pay her.
Granted, if I die first, I can’t collect. But she forgot that I plan on crawling out of my coffin during my funeral using animatronics, while my DJ plays Michael Jackson’s Thriller (yes DJ. Big party at my funeral. Also booze, shot girls, TVs, etc). So now I’m going to program my corpse to chase her down like the Thriller video, and get my money.
July 10, 2009
In the Thriller video there’s credits for MJ and the chick, all the directors, producers, choreographers, makeup artists and Vincent Price… but the zombie dancers never get any props.
Nuke LaLoosh’s delivery in Bull Durham. My God, couldn’t someone have taught him how to throw a baseball? Henry Rowengartner’s mechanics in Rookie of the Year were better.
That Jack Bauer has never used the bathroom or eaten anything ever. Like scatter some empty chinese food cartons or pizza boxes around the HQ set every few hours.
Why Lance Armstrong is a hero. For starters, we all know he cheated like a fiend. Ok, so he battled cancer… then immediately after finding out his remaining testicle still worked, dumped the wife who stayed at his side through that adversity so he could nail Sheryl Crow.
That someone always has to be in the doghouse among fans of the Mets and other teams. If seven guys in the lineup are all-stars, the eighth hitter “Sucks” and “should be released or killed immediately.”
In Whitney Houston’s “I Will Always Love You,” the lyrics go “I wish you joy and happiness, but over all this, I wish you… Love.” Love? Why not SUCCESS? Which rhymes with Happiness?
July 9, 2009
Ken Griffey, Jr. entered the game to the song Billie Jean and stepped into the batter’s box like this:
Normally, he wears two blue batting gloves. He rocked the one white glove on his left hand as his own, personal MJ tribute.
I’m not sure why, but I love stuff like that. I love things like Nomar’s 90-second standing ovation in Fenway, Bo Kimble’s tribute to Hank Gathers, and USC’s missing kicker tribute.
June 26, 2009
In the five years of running the death pool, Michael Jackson is the first celebrity to die in which I’ve actually felt bad.
In general don’t like faking reverence for someone I’ve never met, when thousands of people I never met die every day and death is a natural part of life (plus the whole humor as a defense mechanism thing, I guess).
But MJ was THE MAN in the 1980s. I had the Michael trading cards. I played Thriller non-stop. I pretended he and Kurt Cobain died the same day because the Michael of the last 15 years is NOT the Michael I grew up listening to. He was THE STAR in the world. We watched MTV 24/7 hoping Thriller would come on. And like every kid my age, I danced in my socks on the kitchen floor trying to moonwalk wearing one of my mom’s white winter gloves.
Funny story, as I was talking to my mom, and she was reminiscing on the sensation of Michael in the 80s (which coincided with many happy memories of her kids at the time), she mentioned how my neighbor Lisa, who is my age and was 5-7 at the time of Michael’s immense popularity, wanted to marry Michael Jackson.
We laughed at how Lisa probably had a better shot back then at age six than she did at age 18-24.
And that kind of made us both sad. Michael Jackson was a ridiculously gifted and talented dance, a musical genius and world-wide superstar. The 1995-2009 MJ was a tabloid freak who obviously didn’t even physically resemble 80s MJ.
I wish everyone in the world could remember him as just that musical genius and not as the plastic surgery warning poster, probable child molester, and psychologically messed up freak he was later in life.
December 21, 2008
I just read a news story that Michael Jackson is in bad health.
“Michael Jackson is reportedly in desperate need of an emergency transplant operation to save his life from a rare lung condition, according to the author of a new biography of the singer.”
First off, this would explain the sightings of Jackson in public wearing a surgical mask or scarf to cover his mouth and nose, etc. We all thought it was because his nose was so ugly.
Remember when Michael was black... and cool?
Secondly, why couldn’t this have struck him in 1989 before he became a parody? Think about it. If Michael Jackson died in 1989, he would be regarded as a musical genius. Spoken of with the likes of Hendrix, Morrison, Lennon, Joplin, Gaye, and countless other musicians who left the earth in their youth.
Instead, he did a mediocre album in 1991 (Dangerous), shot a video with Macauley Culkin (Black and White), and then turned into a freakish goul accussed of molesting children, mocked mercilessly by the media.
I don’t want to think of him as an effeminate freak. Michael was the freaking King of Pop. Thriller! Billie Jean! Smooth Criminal! Not child molesting, alien looking warning against plastic surgery.