Michael Jackson has dropped dead.
I did learn something from Jackson – no, not how to moonwalk – but rather this very important lesson: if you call yourself something, everyone will eventually quote it as fact. In Jackson’s case, it was the laughable and grandiose “King of Pop” title. One day his management started telling journalists to refer to him that way, and they did. Now in news stories of his death you read things like, “Known as the King of Pop…”
Brilliant. Thanks for that tip, MJ.
In my case I have asked journalists to refer to me as “The Pope Of The Earth And All That Is Beyond The Earth.” No journalists have written about me since I made that proclamation, but if they ever do, I fully expect that you’ll become quite familiar with my new status as Pope of everything. Once that is in place we’ll be able to get rid of the other pope. He’ll be inconsequential. I mean, more inconsequential.
This was great:
Well yeah man, people were crying because you assholes blocked off the emergency room doors and their broken bones and knife wounds were really starting to hurt. But they had to hang around in the parking lot bleeding out because Jackson is so fucking important, even in death, that everyone has to clear the fucking way to cater to his marvelous ass.
How sad and idiotic. Bundle the looney child-molesting cunt into a burlap bag and bury him in the dump.