Waking up to a breakfast of lightly buttered wholemeal toast, pomegranate marmalade, quail’s eggs and a small headache having emerged from a 14 day coma following the imbibing of a cocktail of my own devising in which key ingredients were ketamine and kerosene, I note with an elevated eyebrow that former lead vocalist with The Jackson Five, Michael Jackson, has died suddenly at the age of 50.
F*** me with a hastily mass produced f***ing Michael Jackson commemorative statuette with authentic replica sequin glove, now perhaps the f***ing human race can enter the next stage of f***ing evolution now that it’s no longer f***ing fixated on the most colossal waste of mental and emotional f***ing energy ever to moonwalk the f***ing planet! The man who when he said he felt like a child, meant it as a f***ing cue to for his staff to go send out for one, preferably in f***ing Macaulay blonde! The man who wrote f***ing ‘We Are The World’, a f***ing arbitrary string of randomly generated f***ing pieties pulled out Bubbles’s f***ing arse drowned in a f***ing vat of f***ing celebrity crocodile tears! The baby-dangling, literally f***ing arse-faced, Elizabeth Taylor-worrying f***ing minstrel in reverse! I mean, was this the c*** to end all c***s or what?
Michael Jackson was a star before he was ten years old. However, his upbringing, it was alleged, was a harsh one, at the hands of his violently disciplinarian father.
I f***ing tell you, old man f***ing Joe may be a f***ing giant pinstripe f***ing sewer reptile but he had the f***ing right idea in slapping that little twat around and making him f***ing dance on hotplates and nailing his feet to the floor or whatever the f*** he did! To the end of his f***ing days, the rest of the f***ing Jackson Five, Jackie, Jermaine, Tito, f***ing Ceausescu or whatever his name was, should have created a f***ing point to their useless f***ing lives by taking it in turns to kick Michael up the f***ing skin-draped coccyx he called a f***ing arse every f***ing 30 minutes! I mean, what the f***ing f*** are big brothers for?
Michael Jackson was a figure of some controversy – however, his supporters were among the most loyal and devoted of any pop star, despite the stories that circulated about their idol.
Jesus H f***ing Crucifix Dildo, what f***ing contaminated f***ing petri dish did these wretched, docile f***ing losers crawl from? I’ve strangled f***ing dogs with a more f***ing sceptical attitude towards f***ing humanity than these f***ing clotwads! You know, it beggars f***ing belief that they can put a man on the moon, but they can’t f***ing invent giant, roaming airborne disposal units with special antennae so that every time some f***ing special needs case squeaks "We love you, Michael!" it triggers a glass suction tube to descend on them, f***ing inhale them up, mince their remains and shoot them in the f***ing direction of one of the moons of Jupiter! I mean, come the f*** on, science, ariba!
Michael Jackson’s funeral was a lavish but sombre affair, in which his close friends and family paid glowing tribute to the artist for his humanitarianism and selfless love for others.
Did you f***ing see this? It was like having f***ing shit forced back up your f***ing arse! Does living in f***ing California sun-dry your f***ing brain, or what? Al f***ing Sharpton? How the f*** did he inveigle his f***ing way into the proceedings? And what the f*** happened to him? Wasn’t he an obese f*** once? Or did Janet Jackson lend him the f***ing liposuction machine she’s used to lose approximately 3000 pounds of f***ing fat these past 20 years? And the f***ing Maya Angelou poem, there was the real f***ing sofa biter! A f***ing rhyme and sentience-free f***ing zone guaranteed! Were they all on a bet to see who could straightfacedly utter the phrases most diametrically opposed to the f***ing truth? "He was a humanitarian…" NO! "He taught us how to love" DID HE F***! "He wasn’t strange . ." YES HE F***ING WELL WAS, HE WAS STRANGER THAN A F***ING SEVEN-LEGGED GIRAFFE THAT F***ING LIVES UNDERWATER ONLY EMERGING TO THE OCEAN’S SURFACE ONCE EVERY F***ING SIX MONTHS TO UTTER THE WORDS "BERNARD CRIBBINS" IN A F***ING NORFOLK ACCENT! F***ING STRANGER, IF ANYTHING! I’ll tell you the f***ing worst thing about that funeral, though – they should have held it ten f***ing years ago! Abducted him, hauled his f***ing chickenbone carcass into that f***ing gold coffin, screwed the lid down, drowned out his screams with a f***ing choral medley of "Earth Song", "We Are The World" and "Rockin’ Robin" then buried the c*** eight feet under, the sound of his hammering f***ing fists and little squeaks growing fainter with every f***ing shovel full of f***ing soil! C***!
