No, wait, don’t start throwing white gloves at me in anger! I didn’t say it–I just thought it. It’s Steppin’ Out magazine’s Chaunce Hayden who actually put that idea on paper, and I’m merely here to share his fuming words with y’all as a public (or perhaps pubic) service.
Check out Hayden’s reasoning and see if you don’t gag, spew, wince, and totally agree:
By Chaunce Hayden
It’s time for the voice of reason. Michael Jackson was an asshole. There, I said it, and I’ll say it again. Michael “creepy, boy-loving” Jackson was an asshole. Got a problem with that? Too bad. I refuse to jump on the “rest in peace, we love you, Michael” bandwagon and shed tears over someone who was so f-ing despicable. How quickly the world forgets or conveniently chooses not to remember.
Allow me to quickly recap the life of this troubled superstar: Michael Jackson was a pedophile. Michael Jackson was a drug addict. Michael Jackson
abused his own children both physically and emotionally. Michael Jackson was a deadbeat who owed millions in unpaid bills. Oh yeah, and Michael Jackson could sing and dance like a motherf–ker. And now, he’s dead. Boo hoo. What surprises me is how long this frail child molester was able to physically walk the earth. Let’s face it; Michael, for all intent and purpose, had left the human race years ago as he morphed into one of his Thriller video characters before our very eyes. But like the “Emperor’s New Clothes,” the world chose to ignore the true horror of this self-mutilated beast.
For 50 years, this soft-spoken mummy moonwalked his way through life leaving a trail of victims in his wake. God knows how many brainwashed boys were befriended by the ghoulish performer with the lure of cash, toys, exotic pets and an alcohol concoction Michael cleverly called “Jesus Juice” to loosen ’em up before a night of debauchery. Imagine your own child lying in bed next to Michael wondering why the room is spinning while a wig-wearing 5’10”, 115-pound grown man in clown makeup gropes at his innocence. Yet, we cry for this animal as if Christ himself was crucified before our eyes. Please, spare me.
Someone should have put Michael out of his misery many years ago. A stake through the heart would have been more merciful than to allow this half-human/half plastic thing to slither through his backyard amusement park, hunting for his pubescent prey. In the end, I believe Michael himself knew what he had become and made the choice to put a stop to the madness. While the word “suicide” has yet to be brought up between all the blind tears, it’s my hope that Michael, in an effort to stop himself from hurting any other child, put an end to his own miserable existence.
I will not mourn the death of Michael Jackson no more than I would mourn the death of any pedophile that hunts down children for deviant pleasure…Regardless of his musical abilities.
Tonight, as I write this column, my heart and tears go out to those children who grew up much too soon thanks to the “King of Pop.”
This article from the Village Voice Archive was posted on July 1, 2009