Whacko

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My brother John, out of the blue one day, said: "Only in America can a poor black kid grow up to be a successful, rich, white woman."

He was speaking of Michael Jackson, of course, and it used to make me laugh every time I thought of Jacko.

Yet his sudden death kind of makes his life a pure tragedy, doesn't it? What a mess were made of things when all was said and done.

The trappings of fame are ridiculous when you get that famous - it killed Elvis, killed Anna Nicole, killed Marilyn Monroe, and now killed Michael Jackson, I suppose.

I wasn't ever really a fan on Michael Jackson, but how could you escape it? I even tried to moonwalk one time at a frat party - not a pretty picture. Yet I did watch the Thriller video when it debuted, right along with a million others.

The reason I didn't love his music - although I appreciated his talents - was that I love rock and roll - and girls were into Michael - and he danced - and I dance like Grape Ape.

Yet I certainly was disgusted with the marriage to Lisa Marie, and the allegations of child abuse - yeah, yeah, never convicted, but if I'm not guilty of something, I'm certainly not giving you $20 mil to walk away.

And that's disgusting. And that's where the hero worship should end.

I'm trying to be fair here, but waking up to the words, The world mourns the loss of Michael Jackson might be a little dramatic.

Mourn? Nah, not me. Can't get past the molestation stuff - but I pity him and the tragic life he ended up leading.

May God judge him fairly.

I'll miss Farrah more.

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