Too Young To Die - Too Mad To Live

Well, he's dead! - that Michael Johnson (as my mother said over the phone the other day).

The world is in mourning, we're told. A memorial concert is going to be held in Americaland somewhere and just 20,000 tickets are available - fingers crossed, eh? Even in Small Town, some turd burglar calling himself "Ste" is arranging a mass pop-in to celebrate the life of Whacko Saddo BabyDanglo Whiteo NoNoseo Paedo Jacko.

"Ste" (the "v" and the "e" were obviously bridges too far for his doubtless cerebrally challenged parents at the Christening) says in a bowel-moving message to all and sundry on Facebook: "Sadly, one of the greatest entertainers ever has passed away - the King of Pop, Michael Jackson." (I am punctuating this for him and correcting his spelling as I go along, by the way).

With no feeling whatsoever for overstatement, he masturbates on: "The world has come to a standstill since the news. This is our time for all the fans, friends and loved ones to join together for Michael Jackson and share the history and memories of what we all hold in our heart." ("we" only have one "heart", apparently. Ed)

Still with me? There's more: "Let us dance and sing to those number one hits, love and smile. Enjoy this day together as our remembrance day for the King, Michael Jackson."

"White emulsion paint, brushes, false noses, complimentary companion monkeys and sexually vulnerable children will be available at the door." Actually, to be fair, that bit's not in it. I made that bit up.

The message does, however, conclude (and this section is my particular fave): "Bring friends, family, yourself and your love."

Please excuse me while I phone up my 82-year-old, blind, deaf and partially disabled mother and tell her to drive up here from Devon PDQ to join in the fun - and to make sure that she brings her love with her.

Let's face it, this is WORSE than when Diana, Queen of Farts, had that fleeting dalliance with a Parisian central tunnel support after being driven home by a pissed-up, drug-addled, dwarf frog in the pay of a bent Arab (Oh, how we laughed). At least the former Princess of Wails (sic) only ever fucked people who had at least sat an 11-Plus exam (although most, if not all, did not pass it, it has to be said). Come to that, and in her defence again, she only really cavorted with members of the same fucking phylum!

Jacko, on the other hand? Well, he was a slightly different cup of nematode worms. To recap, who/what was he? Well, being positive (a little electric chair joke used by warders, I'm told) he was a formerly cute-looking kid with a good singing voice who could cut a decent rug. Talking of cutting, he also cut a few popular music discs which were generally well received, notably by the deaf and people with behavioural disorders. That's about it for the positives, really.

On t'other side of coin, well...........HE FUCKED CHILDREN!!! No, he didn't think he was Peter Pan and so wanted to share the magical world of children and give them peace and joy and love - HE WANTED TO PUT HIS PENIS IN THEIR BOTTOMS!!! Name the last fucking paedophile for which the world went into mourning?

In addition, he didn't want to be black and so apparently bathed in bleach every day in an effort to turn white. Are those the actions of a king? King of the Loonies, maybe. Add to that, he didn't like his nose - or his eyes, or his mouth, or his chin, or his cheeks, or his ears, or his neck, or.........Come on, be honest, someone who can fall out with parts of their body is the sort of person you pray won't sit next to you on the bus!

Because he had the money, however, and he lived in a land where looks are available over the counter, he was able to swap the body parts he didn't like for ones that he did - I believe there's a catalogue you can look through. Never seen it in Argos, though. Sadly, he felt the same way about noses as the rest of us feel about strawberries - once you've had one you've just got to have another...and another. The end result was the limited amount of cartilage available onto which new hooters could be nailed was gradually eroded, so much so that he was just left with a gaping hole in the middle of his face which could only be covered by something akin to an almost-flesh-coloured, thin matchbox. He did achieve his aim of getting a new face - sadly, it was the face of someone who died in 1949.

Also, his best friend was a fucking chimpanzee!..............I mean, do I really have to expand on this point? Hmmm? Ok, I have some pretty under-developed friends who eat bananas, have to shave four times-a-day, like tea parties, show their arses in public and regard a tyre suspended from a tree by a piece of rope as a leisure centre but they are at least capable of walking upright (before 11pm) and have opposable thumbs! Seeking out comfort from apes is surely only for those who like going clubbing in South Shields on a Friday night?

There were other slightly disturbing aspects to his life - like he lived in a fucking fairground, liked dangling babies out of third-floor windows, pretended to be Jesus at music awards and walked round in a mask - but to mention them would just be nit-picking, I think.

So, for whom has the world apparently come to a standstill? A bleached paedophile with a plastic nose who hangs around with monkeys! It's not exactly like the death of Nelson, be honest.

There are those who say Jacko has gone to heaven, others say he is in Hell. Well, sorry to disappoint you all - I've sent him to Grantham.