The Tragedie of Michael Jackson, King of Pop

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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 (thirteen 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 (thirteen 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 (thirteen 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 (thirteen years ago) Permalink

seconded - magnificent!

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

Bump, a dump-dump

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

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

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

Dan needs to write that section.

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

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

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

make sure the next act contains references to Duckbutter.

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

THE KING - Thou dost rock mine world!

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

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

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

What? People smoke SOS pads to get high?

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

wouldn't you?!

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

Only if we were out of tampons.

Casuistry (Chris P), Friday, 21 November 2003 18:20 (thirteen years ago) Permalink

Act V, Scene v: Pomfret Minimum Security Correctional Facility

I have been studying how I may compare
This prison where I live unto the world:
And for because the world is populous
And here is not a creature but myself,
I cannot do it; yet I'll hammer it out.
The better sort,
As thoughts of things divine, are intermix'd
With scruples and do set the word itself
Against the word:
As thus, 'Come, little ones,' and then again,
'It is as hard to come as for a camel
To thread the postern of a small needle's eye.'

[grabs crotch]

Thus play I in one person many people,
And none contented: sometimes am I king;
Then treasons make me wish myself a beggar,
And so I am: then crushing penury
Persuades me I was better when a king;
Then am I king'd again: and by and by
Think that I am unking'd by Sneddon,
And straight am nothing: but whate'er I be,
Nor I nor any man that but man is
With nothing shall be pleased, till he be eased
With being nothing. Music do I hear?

[Thriller motif sounds offstage; faint laughter of Vincent Price]

Ha, ha! keep time: how sour sweet music is,
When time is broke and no proportion kept!
So is it in the music of men's lives.
And here have I the daintiness of ear
To cheque time broke in a disorder'd string;
But for the concord of my state and time
Had not an ear to hear my true time broke.

[more offstage music; faint “the kid is not my son”]

Now sir, the sound that tells what hour it is
Are clamorous groans, which strike upon my heart,
Which is the bell: so sighs and tears and groans
Show minutes, times, and hours: but my time
Runs posting on in Sneddon's proud joy,
While I stand fooling here, his Jack o' the clock.
This music mads me; let it sound no more;
For though it have holp madmen to their wits,
In me it seems it will make wise men mad.
Yet blessing on his heart that gives it me!
For 'tis a sign of love; and love to Michael
Is a strange brooch in this all-hating world.

[Blackout; offstage whisper: “who's bad?”]

brian nemtusak (sanlazaro), Friday, 21 November 2003 21:33 (thirteen years ago) Permalink

Nicely done, but now that we have a beginning and an end we need a middle!

Ned Raggett (Ned), Friday, 21 November 2003 21:35 (thirteen years ago) Permalink

Always my weak point. Btw/fwiw, yr. posts (and entire thread for that matter) = aplause aplause applause

brian nemtusak (sanlazaro), Friday, 21 November 2003 21:40 (thirteen years ago) Permalink


Ned Raggett (Ned), Friday, 21 November 2003 21:46 (thirteen years ago) Permalink

Enter separately The Fool and Lady Latoya, inbred meddler, out of breath. Both bow before The King

[madly] You there, Foo, come heel to me. And Your Highness,
I request an audience to dsicuss
A mattter most urgent. Prithee, draw near.
[aside]What fortune, what chance! With these steps my plan
Nears fruition! The players set, curtain
Ready, my scheme -- but hold! Tis time!
[to both]Far be it for one of my station low
To pose this query so: if this drama be,
And more, be true, should not you, rustic clown,
Speak free from poesie and rather in prose
To designate proper your vulgar place?
Unless! Unless! Yes, there is more, and less!
I have stumbled on a masquerade,
The Fool, true King, whilst yon Jackson -- knave!

[The King's face begins to melt]

Mine eyes! His nose detached and fall'n! Syphilitic?
Plastic alchemy 'come parasitic?

Leee Majors (Leee), Saturday, 22 November 2003 02:46 (thirteen years ago) Permalink

one month passes...

Though my enemies fade me
I am innocent of these foul crimes
and though this judge dost lord o'er me
still I shall dance atop this SUV.

J (Jay), Saturday, 17 January 2004 14:29 (thirteen years ago) Permalink

why are you so ugly

emily shitzuo, Saturday, 17 January 2004 19:51 (thirteen years ago) Permalink

KING: Toby, or not Toby: That is the question.
Whether 'tis nobler in the bed to bugger
Their tits and asses off in sumptious fortune,
or to take alarm in the seas of trouble,
and by deflowing, end it. To die, to sleep:
no more. And by a sleep to say the end,
The petite mort and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance for dream: Ay, there's a rub.
For in the Californian death what dreams have come
Now decency's shuffled from all ones coils -
Must give us pause. There's no respect
That makes calamity of my life
For who would bear the whips and scorns of rhyme,
Record company's wrongs, judges contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law's speed,
The redolance of office and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes
When he himsef might his quietus make
With a bare Bob boy? Who would arseholes bear,
To grunt and sweat under a beery wife,
But that dread of something after petite mort,
The undiscovered country from whose bourn
No traveller is allowed to return, confuses my will
And makes us wear the ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
The lack of conscience makes cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is prickled over with the pale hand of celebrity
and despises with great pith and atonement.
With this regard my currents turn awry.
And lose the name of sanity.

Johnney B (Johnney B), Sunday, 18 January 2004 00:10 (thirteen years ago) Permalink

ten months pass...
For the record, this thread is the pinnacle of ILX.

Girolamo Savonarola, Tuesday, 23 November 2004 20:56 (twelve years ago) Permalink

two months pass...
Part III.


Matt DC (Matt DC), Sunday, 30 January 2005 23:34 (twelve years ago) Permalink

Act I, Scene I - A Court Room, California

Enter THE KING, MISS JANET, SIR PAUL, SIR MICK, the consul for the defence URI GELLER and for the prosecution ALEX IN NYC.

Matt DC (Matt DC), Sunday, 30 January 2005 23:47 (twelve years ago) Permalink

URI: Hath not the King eyes? Hath not the King a nose?
Hath not the King hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions;
If you prick him, does he not bleed? If you tickle him, does he not laugh?

THE KING: Actually, not since 1986.

Matt DC (Matt DC), Sunday, 30 January 2005 23:56 (twelve years ago) Permalink

URI: Hath not the King a heart?

THE KING: 'Tis just another part of me.

Matt DC (Matt DC), Sunday, 30 January 2005 23:58 (twelve years ago) Permalink

LADY JANET: Oh woe! The shame brought on our noble house
Is too much for me to bear. The distress
In being linked to such wicked scandal
By men so brutish as these foul vandals
With their iniquitous plots - all they seek
Is their pound of flesh. I turn t'other cheek:
This past year, I have laboured and toiled
In wardrobe malfunctions I've been embroiled
With the help of young, buff Sir TIMBERLAKE
That nipple piercing - 'twas for the King's sake
I bared my boob, so you would forget his
But to no avail - it has come to this.
I will take the stand to defend my brother
E'en if I just get the other, other.

The Lex (The Lex), Monday, 31 January 2005 00:50 (twelve years ago) Permalink

alarum, drums, trumpets

let the wide arch of brooklyn
into the foaming hudson fall
before these many-cursed villains
once more attain their liberty.
It out-Herods Herod! ha! liberty! what is it
but a yet more spacious cage within which
reprobates and traitors ply their schemes?
but let us quiet!
- the trial begins!

i'll daub it thus for now, outrage seeming heaped on outrage until the jurors beg heaven to contend against such villainy! then i'll 'minster the fatal blow; when bashir speaks, the noose will follow!

debden, Monday, 31 January 2005 16:06 (twelve years ago) Permalink

I almost might have been at this trial.

adam.r.l. (nordicskilla), Monday, 31 January 2005 16:16 (twelve years ago) Permalink

(aside) O dreadful visage! O infernal prosecutor!
I know this man: The very Ramones obey him,
And in our taunts my better cunning faints
Under his rages. But I'll to counsel-
For still i may outwit this knave:
Like the straw that breaks the Camel's back
In tales of Araby, i'll kindle his ferocity
To new and stronger fires 'til belligerence
Trumps all, and all discourse ceases.

debden, Monday, 31 January 2005 16:41 (twelve years ago) Permalink

Let there be acrimony, let there be vox,
For I hath come to see this stupid cunt in the box,
Took mine advice did he, but little did I know
That 'Revolution' would advertise stereos,
But I survived Yoko and outlived John,
And soon I shall see the ruin of The Gloved One.

Captain GRRRios' Giggletits (Barima), Monday, 31 January 2005 17:30 (twelve years ago) Permalink

Behold, this trial shall be thing
Wherein we weigh the misdeeds of the King
But where is the King of Pop? This churl
Seems trapped in the body of a weird white girl!

From what Planet, sirrah, do you come?
Are you ignorant, or are you simply dumb--
The King of Pop, he stands afore your eyes
No Fool would miss such lame disguise.

Enter one of the KING's minions, leading a strange beast on a leash

KING: Ah, 'tis CaliBubbles! Speak, CaliBubbles, speak!

CALIBUBBLES: Ooo! Oooo! Oooo! Eeee! Eee! Eee!

Chorus of JACKSON WASSAILERS: "...Easy as one, two, three."

The Mad Puffin, Monday, 31 January 2005 17:57 (twelve years ago) Permalink

But who here has the trageskill to work in Latoya?

Mr Noodles (Mr Noodles), Monday, 31 January 2005 18:24 (twelve 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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