The Tragedie of Michael Jackson, King of Pop

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ALL: Oh no! OH NO! Have mercy on us!
Not -- DON'T SAY! -- Dr Thaddeus Thrush!
The genital doctor has come down upon us!
Hieronymous Bosch has not seen more horrors!

Momus (Momus), Monday, 28 October 2002 07:51 (fifteen years ago) Permalink

(Exeunt, naked.)

End of Act One

The imperial bedroom suite at Neverland. A cock crows. Rays of morning sun illuminate the elaborate plastic drapes of the king's oxygen tent.

Momus (Momus), Monday, 28 October 2002 08:17 (fifteen years ago) Permalink

(Nick is going bonkers album-mixing in a verrrry smalllll room)

suzy (suzy), Monday, 28 October 2002 08:57 (fifteen years ago) Permalink

THE KING: (Waking, groggy) Lisa Marie? Bubbles? Macaulay?

LADY JACKSON: (Outside bedroom door) My Lord? Are you awake?

THE KING: Come... come in?

LADY JACKSON: I think I'll just stay here, by your leave
I don't want any nasty surprises like last time, my liege.
Just to say Phoebus has risen, it's soon
Time for your portrait with the artist, Jeff Koons.
Do you need any help picking out hair
Skin from the closet, or a nice face to wear?

THE KING: Away, woman, fie, I don't need your help
I can do all those things pretty much by myself
But one thing thou couldst do -- if you see Dr Wax
Tell him to bring an iron and a couple of skin grafts.

LADY JACKSON: Very well. Oh, just one more thing
There's a new Beatles songbook someone's publishing
It's stuffed full of songs you own and can sing
Do you want me to push it under the door?

THE KING: Very well, push it under. I'll sing them in the shower.

Momus (Momus), Monday, 28 October 2002 09:06 (fifteen years ago) Permalink

Maccauley: Hark, what that muthafucka be?
A cock? they crowest at me?
Ask not for whom the jacko whacko for he wacketh for thee.
Could it be, my future thus portrayed,
from aftershaved doodlings in 5 star hotels
to heterosexual flashbacks in sonic youth motels
Alas, Uncle Mickey, can't you wacketh thee for me?

Maccauley, Monday, 28 October 2002 09:09 (fifteen years ago) Permalink

(I'm in awe! This is brilliant! Perhaps you could have the rest of the Jackson 5 as the chorus? And Joe Jackson as the nefarious villain?)

Miss Laura, Monday, 28 October 2002 10:22 (fifteen years ago) Permalink

MISS JANET: Look who I'd be if I wasn't so nasty.
In love with kids and rhinoplasty.

Pose this question, if you will
How'd my brother get so...shrill?
Is it genes and would you bother
Turning white to deny your father?

A music man from Gary, Indiana
Hit his kids with a rusty spanner
Wrenched from reality
Precocious musicality
The rod unspared in discipline's totality

Brother mine should tread with care
Victims turned bullies are not so rare
Spoiling kiddies with his piebald rod
The Fool is he,
Not that Yankovic sod

suzy (suzy), Monday, 28 October 2002 10:59 (fifteen years ago) Permalink

SIR TITO: My career is now but long forgotten
Mists of time, obscurity is rotten

Miss Laura, Monday, 28 October 2002 11:57 (fifteen years ago) Permalink

A Tragicke chorus of Sony executives (over raunch of pork):

O Fortuna, whom the King hast spurned
Cast off, it seems your wheel has turned
And landed us in a red-lit quarter
Where profits slump like ice to water
Instead of beating Britney Spears
He owes us payment in arrears
So now the choice - O, heart is sore!
To go now to the breach once more?
Pour funds into his holy war?
Commission posters, four by four?
Or double back the way we came?
For though steeped in this stream of shame
Where walking on or walking back
Will doubtless make us just as black
It seems, to beat a fast retreat
Will better serve our balance sheet

But hark now! Who is this young coquettish
Sent hither to quench the King's old fetish?

Tim Finney (Tim Finney), Monday, 28 October 2002 12:51 (fifteen years ago) Permalink

Enter SIR PAUL of MCCARTNEY from behind the arras, brandishing a sword.

SIR PAUL: Fie on thee, thy scurvy dog,
The Queen art mine, mine, mine,

Matt DC (Matt DC), Monday, 28 October 2002 12:58 (fifteen years ago) Permalink

THE KING: Is this a Jagger I see before me?

Matt DC (Matt DC), Monday, 28 October 2002 13:03 (fifteen years ago) Permalink

Utterly brilliant. :-)

Ned Raggett (Ned), Monday, 28 October 2002 13:58 (fifteen years ago) Permalink

Say say say what thou wil'st
But don't play games with my erection.


N. (nickdastoor), Monday, 28 October 2002 14:01 (fifteen years ago) Permalink

For I see that thou art a lover, rather than a warrior. But I shall suffer you to naught, for the wench belongs to me!

(SIR PAUL falls to the floor, seemingly paralyzed before THE KING. Enter SIR MICK, who upon seeing the tableau, cries out)

I find myself in a state of incapacitation, where you my King, have placed me.

(SIR MICK falls to the floor next to SIR PAUL)

J (Jay), Monday, 28 October 2002 14:15 (fifteen years ago) Permalink

I am honoured to make thy aquaintance, my leige,
I hope you know my name.

Aye, but what perplexes me,
Is the nature of thy game.
(To Sir Paul)Waste not thy time, for the Queen is mine

She has but this night confided
That I be her eternal lover.

After me, she said, she will ne'er love another.
Begone! Thou mak'st me want to scream.

Exeunt all except The King

Matt DC (Matt DC), Monday, 28 October 2002 16:23 (fifteen years ago) Permalink


O calumny thou hast torn my life askew!

Of trees and hungry starved there are few;

Yet I as Messiah will speak my peace,

Brave children I shall enlist, low in grease,

For minor are my misfortunes to God,

When considereth thou the wretched law of Sod,

I am the light which earth shalt illumine,

To banish hellwise bowls for Columbine.

What of the trees? What of the dying birds?

What of the children whom I mistake not for turds?

For God am I, I am namdam forsooth,

Or would be had not Randy robbed me of wisdom tooth...



"Begone, false prophet, for thou durst speakest tosh!

Your pitiful pretensions are unfit e'en for nosh!

Roaches shalt never climb your quadruple-garotted walls,

As evidenced by your lack of recordings by the Falls.

For Princess Janet hath taken all thy cred,

Whilst thou indulgest in filth and sausage atop thy bed!

She now hath the trust of Courtier Beenieman

Whilst you would be fortunate to attract a 90-summers-old Exeter fan!

I embrace the future, Ladytron and Electralane,

Thou wretched sneitch, doomest e'ermore to Sir Toby Keith's pain!

He blows his bottom at THE KING and exits, stage left.

Chas Lamb, Monday, 28 October 2002 16:43 (fifteen years ago) Permalink

KING: Now, is the summer of this content,
Made bitterest winter by these sons of Yorke,
And all the rays that shone upon our house,
Now lie in the deep bosom of the earth buried.
And I, that was once shaped for sportive tricks
Can no longer court an amorous looking-glass;
So now, as I start towards this man in the mirror,
Can I yet ask him to change his ways?
Still now, as our enemies mount on ev'ry side,
To the east, from the house of Sir Thomas of Yorke,
From o'er the seas, his army grows but in this
Very state, some canker remains.
They say that the old King John of Lennon,
Dead these four score years once again walks
These hostile turrets of Castle Neverland.
'Tis close to midnight and evil lurks in the dark
For 'tis the thriller, thriller night,
And for my life, this night I fight.

Matt DC (Matt DC), Monday, 28 October 2002 16:58 (fifteen years ago) Permalink

Exit, stage left

Matt DC (Matt DC), Monday, 28 October 2002 16:59 (fifteen years ago) Permalink

Whereupon he runs fatally into the wronged LADY ELLIOTT's outstretched fremme neppa venette.


Marcello Carlin, Monday, 28 October 2002 17:00 (fifteen years ago) Permalink

i was not complaing, just noting. also feeling honored that i inspired this.

anthony easton (anthony), Monday, 28 October 2002 17:04 (fifteen years ago) Permalink


The business district of an unnamed American city with lots of buildings and signs in it that often include the words 'New Yorke.'

THE KING enters.]

Having thus confounded this mighty wound
I must now confront the evils of this land
For my home realm now falls prey to Yorke
And a new city raises itself in mockery
To my plans and devices for a golden age
Of glory against the forces of despite
Who would yet seek to destroy what I hold dear.
What horrors are seen here among these citizens!
Picks up a Village Voice
Some scribblers here proclaim the sons of Yorke
To be the bearers of deep meaning and truth
A HEALEY, so-named, yet he cannot heal his soul
And a Lord MARTIN who clearly wets his bed
Or some uncouth former ally of the Sony board
Once said in a moment of outraged passion
Brought on by excess of red meat and wine.
Nay nay, I must fight this idiocy sublime
For the world will understand how I champion
Their causes and dreams, their deep motives.

Enter a CITIZEN, dressed in strange and colourful garb.

Good dweller of this land! I am here to free thee
From the horrible bonds of YORKE that have ensnared
You and your fellow dwellers for too long.
Come follow me, your rightful lord and master!

'Sblood, thou stinkard, remove thy prating follies
From this fair island that truly inhabits the center
Of the Known Universe (or so I keep hearing from others
Who have never in fact left it to live elsewhere).
We have no need of thy follies anymore now that we have
A truer set of lords and masters.

But Yorke!
He is no king of thine.

Yorke is but a chimera
In these days of plenty and calm. We now worship
The better sovereigns of a truly New Yorke --
The good lords CASABLANCAS and NELLY, and not only them
But the mighty Queen MISSY and her oft-talked frappe
Not to mention Princess AGUILERA and her tantrum fits
And the Northern Duchess LAVIGNE, who speaks of Bois.
These in fact give us the hope and reaches we need
In this time when chimpanzees pretend to rule the land
From houses painted in white and surrounded by guards.
For we must have a modern hope and not thy spewings.

Ned Raggett (Ned), Monday, 28 October 2002 17:15 (fifteen years ago) Permalink

Implores everyone to ignore Marcello's post as everyone knows that it defies all Shakespearean conventions to kill of the protagonist before at least the fifth act.

Matt DC (Matt DC), Monday, 28 October 2002 17:26 (fifteen years ago) Permalink

KING: What, ho? But who comes hither?
'Tis the fair maiden, PaedOphelia.

Matt DC (Matt DC), Monday, 28 October 2002 17:53 (fifteen years ago) Permalink


Dan Perry (Dan Perry), Monday, 28 October 2002 18:37 (fifteen years ago) Permalink

PRINCESS RECESS: Shut thou foul mouth! Burden me not with your cries for pudding!

jel -- (jel), Monday, 28 October 2002 19:00 (fifteen years ago) Permalink

The King shunned by his daughter, wanders through the castle grounds oblivious to the taunts of his citizens.

KING: What manner of monster are thee? Why hast thou daughter forsaken me in my need? My kingdom for a pie! My kingdom for a pie!

jel -- (jel), Monday, 28 October 2002 19:07 (fifteen years ago) Permalink

THE KING: Casting aside his Village Voice
Feh, for no one heeds my cries.
Hast thou all cast thy lot in with the beast Motolla?
He who shuns me for the stain of my skin?
He who see not the value of my work?
He who treats shabbily his Mistress Carey, yea until she doth feign the madness?
Woe unto me, for the Motolla hast stolen my reign from me!
Woe unto me, for it is he, and not I, who is Bad!


J (Jay), Monday, 28 October 2002 19:35 (fifteen years ago) Permalink

Act IV, Scene 1: A gallery hung with portraits of the Jackson clan and their liege lords. MICHAEL paces the corridor.

'Struth, I shall rally my own musical forces, and reclaim the charts that formerly were mine! (hums a little riff that resolves into "Got to Be Startin' Somethin")

MICHAEL stops abruptly in front of a portrait of Sieur Thomas De La Mottola.

Why did I not see this before?
DE LA MOTTOLA is the author of my woe!
He underfunded my most recent campaign
Because he scorns those of the sable strain!

MICHAEL pulls out a pencil and scribbles a devil's horns and goatee on the portrait. Enter stage right the ghost of ELVIS I.

What? I am the one who is ectoplasm
Yet is my son-in-law the greater phantasm?

Heavens! My eyes pop forth from my head!
But wait just a sec--is the KING really dead?

Aye, I have been dead these 25 years
But sometimes I do walk this earth, in tears.
In Rock-and-Roll Heaven there's a hell of a band
But never a peanut butter and banana sandwich at hand.
And I will try to help a musician in strife
To help them with this thing called life.

MICHAEL (excitedly)
Who has thou visited in their house of pain?
Courtney LOVE? Robert SMITH?

Uh, Kurt COBAIN?
But dwell not on how others did fail
Now, now you must haste to save your own tail.
Do you remember just how I died?

Straining on the toilet, ass open wide?

You fool! I mean how death did me tug,
By many a greasy sandwich and prescription drug.
Catered to my every whim, whateversoever.
If I could perform, I was their gold-laying goose.
But they did not see that I was in a noose.
They gave me whatever I thought I did need
Yet hastened me to my grave at headlong speed.
You are similarly protected by flacks
And this shield causes the strength of the attacks
Launched upon you by those critical hacks.
Banish your yes-men, think for yourself;
In here who truly profits from your wealth?
You must face the consequences of your actions
And study what renders musical satisfactions.
I hope you can do this; once a young boy
Sang "We are the world," and gave the world joy.
You can regain your spirit, audience, niche
Now where might a hungry ghost find a sandwich?

Turn left, and go to the end of that hall.

ELVIS exits stage left.

Is all that true? Can I rewin it all?

Curtain (, Monday, 28 October 2002 20:39 (fifteen years ago) Permalink

Act IV, Scene ii - A Graveyard

Enter some GRAVEDIGGAZ, with shovels, led by the RZA.

Matt DC (Matt DC), Monday, 28 October 2002 21:16 (fifteen years ago) Permalink

RZA: (Picking up skull) Alas, poor Michael! I knew him, Shabazz!
A fellow of infinite jest, most dangerous crotch
The brain counselor, track fertilizer, the murdalizer
I never heard a wiser, I rue the day
For he once had the body of a Lexus Coupe!

I musta looked upon his poster a thousand times
Musta sung his songs and rhymed his rhymes
And now how abhorred in my imagination it is!
My gorge rims at it! What kind of sick shit is
That? Here hung those lips that I have kissed I know
not how oft -- but nobody call me faggot
I'm as normal as my man Ned Raggett
'To be or not to be?' Fuck it
Death comes to all, can't no man duck it

You was the Grymmest -- where be your gibes now?
Your gambols? your songs? your thrillers and gore
That were wont to set the MTV awards on a roar?
Not one now, to mock your own grinning?
Where be your boys, your monkeys and women?
You fucked up chicken, now you just got fried
It was self-inflicted regicide

Lost was the king in his golden cage
But there was no way out of the death race
The skull we kiss was once a face
Hear the eulogy of Masta Ase!

Yeah, more graves to dig. Goodbye
There's no need to cry...
... cause we all die



Momus (Momus), Wednesday, 30 October 2002 05:22 (fifteen years ago) Permalink

Just as the audience is rising to leave, a small pile of dust at the front of the stage starts spinning as if animated by a tiny twister, elongates itself, and turns into a headless figure in a skeleton body stocking. THE FIGURE delves behind the curtain and returns with the discarded skull. In a slow, ghoulish mime, THE FIGURE places the skull atop its shoulders, straightens it like a mask and, to rapt attention and pindrop silence, starts snapping its skeletal fingers.

A flashbomb explodes and a huge bassline erupts from concealed speakers. THE FIGURE clutches its thrusting pelvic girdle, releases a bloodcurdling whoop then, powered by a tiny jetpack, shoots up to the Royal Circle box, grabs Iman from a thunderstruck David Bowie, and, dragging her behind him, soars towards a small open skylight in the roof of the theatre. The two fleeing silhouettes, visible for some minutes against a huge full moon, resemble nothing so much as Peter Pan and Tinkerbell.

Momus (Momus), Wednesday, 30 October 2002 05:50 (fifteen years ago) Permalink

rip grym reaper

boxcubed (boxcubed), Wednesday, 30 October 2002 07:41 (fifteen years ago) Permalink

mad quotables by my man momus. (death to normals!!!)

boxcubed (boxcubed), Wednesday, 30 October 2002 07:43 (fifteen years ago) Permalink

A haggard 24 year old staggers across the stage, sweeping deliroiously, in no apparent order. It is Macauley, now grown, his penis no longer wanted. He stops, turns to the stage, grabs his genitals and yanks, and over 3 or 4 minutes slurs the following:

Oh, the giraffe, babe, has such teeth, dear
And it shows them pearly white
Just a jacko has old MacWacko, babe
And he keeps it, ah, out of sight (you know where)
Ya know when that bubble bites with his teeth, babe
Scarlet billows start to spread
Fancy glove, oh, wears old MacWack, Jack
So there’s never, never a trace of red

Now on the sidewalk, huh, huh, whoo sunny morning, un huh
Lies a body just oozin' life, (what's that sound?)
And someone’s sneakin' ‘round the corner
Could that someone be Mack the Knife?

There's a tugger, huh, huh, down by the river dontcha know
Where a cement bag’s just a'drooppin' on down-cha
Oh, that cement is just, it's there for the police, dear
Five'll get ya ten old Macky’s back in town
Now d'ja hear ‘bout Emmanual Webster? He disappeared, babe
After drawin' out all his hard-on lash
And now Macwack shoots just like a sailor
Could it be our boy's seen his crotch rash?

Now Brookie Shields, ho, (she was a) ho, yeah, Lizzie Taylor
Ooh, Miss Lisa Marie and old Britney S
Oh, the line forms on the right, babe
Now that Macky’s back in town

I said Lisa Simpson, whoa, La Toyah's snake
Look out to Miss Aguillera and old Macauley too
Yes, that line forms on the right, babe
Now that Macky’s back in town.....

macauley C, Wednesday, 30 October 2002 10:41 (fifteen years ago) Permalink

one year passes...
This thread needs a revival.

Andrew (enneff), Friday, 21 November 2003 01:28 (fourteen years ago) Permalink

Sure does! Hands up who didn't know he'd get caught? If so, you've been dead the last 10 years.....

However, he'll get the "OJ Syndrome": celebrity gets him off

Nichole Graham (Nichole Graham), Friday, 21 November 2003 01:33 (fourteen years ago) Permalink

Oh good lord. Part Two I suppose.


A sleepy provincial town on coastal waters. ENTER THE KING

Odds bodkins! I am summoned by cold men
To answer claims and charges that I
Who only ever wished to heal this grievous world
Have caused damages and harm to those
Whom I would love in a most tender way
Not the way they would have it of course.
But their damned lies will fly forth quickly
And then fall gasping and panting to the ground
Whilst I, sculpted and shaped to transcend this sphere,
Will be the long runner o'er their corpses of untruths
As I will then be free to return to a peaceful valley
And complete my latest entertainment!


Sir, your fingerprints, and your visage
We must have images of both so that
Your whereabouts will be easily found

THE KING [outraged]
All know where I can be found at any time!
For I am your king and you cannot question
My divine image of grace and beauty.

That is as may be, sir, but we must also have
Three million ducats and your papers of passage
For we deem you a threat of flight from our land

Insolence! But here
(withdraws items)
As you demand it, there.
Take them if you must, but those who know me
Will know that my word is my bond

OFFICER (somewhat bored)
Um, indeed sir, we would never question that.
Now excuse me, please, for I have a press conference.

Ned Raggett (Ned), Friday, 21 November 2003 01:38 (fourteen years ago) Permalink

There's no way I could ever hope to add to this but I have to say this is one of the most brilliant things I've ever read =) Clever bastards!

Trayce (trayce), Friday, 21 November 2003 01:56 (fourteen years ago) Permalink

seconded - magnificent!

jed (jed_e_3), Friday, 21 November 2003 02:40 (fourteen years ago) Permalink

Bump, a dump-dump

Ned Raggett (Ned), Friday, 21 November 2003 15:51 (fourteen years ago) Permalink

Fanfares. Enter R KELLY - The King's Bastard Brother

Matt DC (Matt DC), Friday, 21 November 2003 15:59 (fourteen years ago) Permalink

Dan needs to write that section.

Ned Raggett (Ned), Friday, 21 November 2003 16:01 (fourteen years ago) Permalink

However, he'll get the "OJ Syndrome": celebrity gets him off

I thought it was young boys that got him off.

El Diablo Robotico (Nicole), Friday, 21 November 2003 16:01 (fourteen years ago) Permalink

SLANDER! The hordes of hyperfans will hunt and slay now.

Ned Raggett (Ned), Friday, 21 November 2003 16:03 (fourteen years ago) Permalink

make sure the next act contains references to Duckbutter.

Chris B. Sure (Chris V), Friday, 21 November 2003 16:04 (fourteen years ago) Permalink

R KELLY - Thy majesty, thou art not alone.
I can be with you,
Come, we dance with maidens fair,
And pisseth on them too.

Matt DC (Matt DC), Friday, 21 November 2003 16:05 (fourteen years ago) Permalink

THE KING - Thou dost rock mine world!

J (Jay), Friday, 21 November 2003 17:14 (fourteen years ago) Permalink

MJ is human crack, that's all there is to it.

Jeanne Fury (Jeanne Fury), Friday, 21 November 2003 17:16 (fourteen years ago) Permalink

What? People smoke SOS pads to get high?

A Girl Named Sam (thatgirl), Friday, 21 November 2003 17:18 (fourteen years ago) Permalink

wouldn't you?!

Jeremy the Kingfish (Kingfish), Friday, 21 November 2003 17:46 (fourteen years ago) Permalink

I thought this thread was going to be about his last album.

polyphonic (polyphonic), Monday, 31 January 2005 19:13 (twelve years ago) Permalink

(I think you could go a long way with La Toya/Janet/Michael around the Shakespearean conceit of people in disguise as one gender or another; brothers and sisters who impersonate one another, etc., but am too lazy to construct whole scenes around it. Carry on.)

The Mad Puffin, Monday, 31 January 2005 19:58 (twelve years ago) Permalink

As a way into western culture, The Tragedy Of Michael Jackson seems better than most.

Have to agree. His appeal, while maddening, is relentless. Of all the collected wisdom on my personal site, this picture accounts for half of the hits every day, gratis, ususally, google image search. Okay, maybe wisdom is the wrong word...

EComplex (EComplex), Monday, 31 January 2005 20:45 (twelve years ago) Permalink

The mother of the kid in the court case is called... Janet Jackson.

an image

James Mitchell (James Mitchell), Tuesday, 1 February 2005 03:00 (twelve years ago) Permalink

Did she flop a boob out?

Autumn Almanac (Autumn Almanac), Tuesday, 1 February 2005 03:01 (twelve years ago) Permalink

...hope not.

James Mitchell (James Mitchell), Tuesday, 1 February 2005 03:02 (twelve years ago) Permalink



As the path of the sunne in yon sky
Th'arc of Fame doth live, and doth die.
Renown once held must in some wise stop
I shall usurp his crown of Pop.

Once I was but a mere Boy amongst a band.
My moves were freshe, but my beats, they were bland.
Then a vexèd wardrobe shocked each rube
Now my Fame rests on one piercèd boob.

The Mad Puffin, Tuesday, 1 February 2005 14:52 (twelve years ago) Permalink

the devil damn thee black, thou cream faced loon!
where go'st thou with these mumblings, that goose look?

as with you my liege
'tis but the native hue of resolution
sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought

damned insolence!
yet this leads nowhere
i shall consult my soothsayer!
call geller!

enter GELLER

THE KING: is't true soothsayer
that in the movement of swallows
o'erarching the cerulean firmament
that shadowy arc which divides men from stars
thou can'st divine man's fortunes?

in nature's infinite book of secrecy
A little I can read

pray then, foresee my fate

thou shalt be innocent until the army of exeter
doth topple to the rude shock
of manchestrian onslaughts

'tis good

till iron spoons bend and watches wake from dusty death
your kingdom will endure

excellent soothsayer!

debden, Tuesday, 1 February 2005 15:37 (twelve years ago) Permalink

one year passes...
once a pied piper of each in a revelrie
being of gargantuan popularitie now he sits
with stains from thee children which had lured him
into probable sodomie
by proxie
an unforgiving world this shall be

i cry for thee, jackson
these tears shall cleanse

do not despair your majestie!
for my plans never cease to be
i now must cultivate an army
an army of leprechauns from thee!

but what ambitions and what tomfoolery a plan this could be
how must you convince the Mother Of Nature
to provide you with many a storm
many a rain
many a drizzle
many an interrupting Sun
to allow many a rainbow
for which thy must find all these pots o gold, ye pop king, dare i ask?

i may exist on thee plain of a pauper in these dying aching days
but even a leper, less of that a leprechaun, hath always the gift of luck!
and being blessed with immaculate charm in earlier years, ye
you generous and love of conditional, your majestie of clovers
must not deny the law above all dirt on which we lay, we walk, and we shovel
it is magick, your majestie!
leprechauns will bring you this majick! Me majick!
The world majick!
Commission a park for this army of leprechaun magick at once!

i am overwhelmed with your charm, pop king. you do never lie.
to my people, nor ever again on this slag of dung!

i shall never!

the dow nut industrial average dead joe mama besser (donut), Thursday, 21 September 2006 20:44 (eleven years ago) Permalink

I can't believe I missed this thread wtf

Shakey Mo Collier (Shakey Mo Collier), Thursday, 21 September 2006 20:51 (eleven years ago) Permalink

momus redeems himself on this thread for everything ever

J.D. (Justyn Dillingham), Thursday, 21 September 2006 22:30 (eleven years ago) Permalink

one month passes...
sailing eastward toward old blightey
behold! a stage, a crowd, I hath been redeemed
many so thought a zombie I would portray
with an army of a young future, so wrong were they

And so surprised as the musick hath been abridged
a lobbing of this coat of mine into a sea of admirers
Mine a tribute to my phalanx of this future of young
so overpowering it could not all be sung!

gwynywdd dwnyt fyrwr byychydd gww (donut), Thursday, 16 November 2006 17:20 (eleven years ago) Permalink

i listened to bad this very morning - pretty f'n awesome.

jhoshea megafauna (scoopsnoodle), Thursday, 16 November 2006 17:24 (eleven years ago) Permalink

best thread ever

Shakey Mo Collier (Shakey Mo Collier), Thursday, 16 November 2006 17:24 (eleven years ago) Permalink

(This is easily one of the three best threads ever. I know I always say that but, honestly.)

Matt DC (Matt DC), Thursday, 16 November 2006 17:26 (eleven years ago) Permalink

four months pass...

Fluffy Bear Hearts Rainbows, Thursday, 29 March 2007 20:32 (ten years ago) Permalink

two years pass...

only jackson thread that matters

conrad, Thursday, 25 June 2009 22:50 (eight years ago) Permalink

so true

And the biggest self of self is, indeed, self (Shakey Mo Collier), Thursday, 25 June 2009 22:52 (eight years ago) Permalink

<3 this thread - hope someone steps up for the epilogue

lex pretend, Thursday, 25 June 2009 22:55 (eight years ago) Permalink

I'll make some calls.

bad hijab (suzy), Thursday, 25 June 2009 22:57 (eight years ago) Permalink

^^^to all the above

the funk soul custos (country matters), Thursday, 25 June 2009 22:59 (eight years ago) Permalink

But hush, what commotion is this? Methinks the king or someone else arrives. I'll to to the arrass, conceal myself and watch what business shall unfold!

the pinefox, Friday, 26 June 2009 02:16 (eight years ago) Permalink

ultimate fucked-up child star, move along, nothing to see here, folks

Dr Morbius, Friday, 26 June 2009 05:27 (eight years ago) Permalink


Cunga, Friday, 26 June 2009 05:38 (eight years ago) Permalink

A glooming peace o'er Neverland this day.
Peter Pan for sorrow will not show his head.
Go hence, to have more talk of death of pop;
Biographies rewritten, concerts cancelled.
The Earth song will be sung in far flung lands;
For never was a HIStory of more woe
Than this of Michael and his Billie Jean.

whatever, Friday, 26 June 2009 05:54 (eight years ago) Permalink

three years pass...

That Was It: The Tragic Tale of Our King Michael Jackson

Tongue firmly in cheek, playwright C.J. Tuor borrows the structure of a Greek tragedy (plus a few tricks from Shakespeare and Bertolt Brecht) to tell the King of Pop's life story. Director-choreographer Ali Keirn embellishes Tuor's extremely witty tale -- featuring a chorus that intones lyrics from Jackson hits -- with eccentric dramatic poses, overwrought modern-dance tableaux, and lots of trademark Jackson moves. But what really sells this high-energy comedy is the cast's ability to win laughs even as they lay bare the pathos in Jackson's story. Playing Jackson pre- and post-plastic surgery respectively, Tom Daily and Emily Goldberg are particularly winning. —Jack Helbig

Trewster Dare (jaymc), Thursday, 9 August 2012 17:26 (five years ago) Permalink

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