MAMA SE MAMA SA MAMA COOSA

It's a bitch to watch famous people die. By famous I'm not referring to some limp dicked reality T.V. asshole or Andy Dick (one and the same, really). I'm talking about the kind of famous where little Hmong children who've never heard music from a radio still knows your name. Ostensibly, that level of fame can only be attributed to one dude: Michael Jackson. It would be much more accurate for me to lament that, "It's a bitch to watch Michael Jackson die." Cause, you know, it has been. Last Thursday, I was happy as fuck eating FroYo when the news blindsided me like a cartoon grand piano from the sky. Ever since, I've been a miserable fuck, with an existential breakdown waiting to debilitate me at any time. Why is it that the death of a demigod, such as Michael Jackson, thrusts our pathetic obsession with celebrities into full throttle? I crucify my female friends any chance I get for wasting so much of their goddamn time getting wet over inane celebrity gossip. A week after the death of Michael Jackson, I sit here confessing my shameful hypocrisy. I'm hooked. I check CNN, WWTDD, TMZ, and even that fat turd Perez Hilton's blog two, three times a day. It's like 9/11 all over again! Footage of Palestinian women cheering and the Twin Towers being speared by jumbo jets are replaced with aerial shots of Neverland Ranch. And for the first time in years, MTV started playing music videos again. During this weeklong binge one thing became clear to me: The entire post mortem ordeal really irks me. In the morning, you're in a posh mansion in the Hollywood Hills being injected with surgical-strength pain killers. By the next, you've been gutted and your brain's being freeze-dried for laboratory examination. Your father's cheerily plugging his record label during interviews and the treacherous media who tarred and feathered, drawn and quartered you and made fortunes in the process, are now singing your praises. He-He!

I went through this phase of pathetic fanaticism during middle school when I discovered Cobain and Nirvana. I'm hoping I can salvage some shred of dignity by purging myself of all this hyper intensive media coverage as soon as possible.