Archive for July, 2009

A fond remebrance of the “King”… uh, sort-of.

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , on July 2, 2009 by The People's Poet


By The Mad White Male

In lieu of the death of Michael Jackson I would like to pay tribute by telling my Michael Jackson story. We used to have to buy music to listen to it.

I was born in 1984.

1995: 11 years of Age.

Walking out of the Coconuts that day I knew, I just knew life had changed forever. My father was grumbling about the $42.00 he had just spent on what he thought would be just a “14.00 CD.” But this was more. A 52 page booklet. 2 cds. Never-before-seen photos. Legendary song after lengendary song. Songs which had sold 100’s of millions of times over. What I had was a key to social prominence which was sure to thrust me into the upper-echelon of junior high.

In a dramatic turn of events, only months earlier a fellow contemporary classmate had experienced his rise. Ricky, with his glasses and his braces, had commandeered a copy of the soundtrack to the R-Rated urban staple “Friday” movie starring Ice Cube and Chris Tucker; and brought it to school. Before this Ricky was known for his feminine athletic tendencies and shitting his pants in the fourth grade. Ricky ate sardines for lunch and had to wear his retainer constantly, and, at only 11 years of age; was experiencing advanced premature baldness. He also had a weight problem. Ricky was a nobody.

The lead single off the “Friday” soundtrack, “Keep They Muthafuckin’ Headz Ringin”

This was no longer the soundtrack to Friday, it was now the soundtrack to Ricky’s glorious childhood.

Brittany asked if Ricky could bring the CD over and they could both listen to it.

Sean asked Ricky to play Lazer Tag and not forget to “bring his CD” to listen to in his older brothers car.

Dan asked if he could borrow the CD and that day at lunch, straight out of the last 15-minutes of ‘Rudy’, Ricky became the only non-player to be carried off the recess field. Ricky had become a God. His balls had officially dropped, and he was in his prime.

Getting on the bus that day I knew it was in the bag, literally. When I unveiled my masterpiece to oooo’s and ahhhh’s this would be my soundtrack.

I sat down in the back in one of the larger seats on the left. Ricky was across the isle and Sean and Dan were in the seats in front of us.

“I got this Cypress Hill my older brother borrowed me,” said Dan as he flipped open his large CD player.

“What do you have?” Ricky asked Sean. “I got this new Bone-Thugs-In-Harmony”

“Cool” muttered Ricky.

“You guys are not going to believe what I’ve got!” as I reached into my turquoise Jansport.

“Michael Jackson’s new double LP, ‘HISTORY’.

The lead single from Michael Jackson’s double LP History, also the theme song to Free Willy 2, “Childhood.”

“I knew he was a fucking fagot.”

“Is that really a Michael Jackson CD?!?!”

“You white bitch.” (Dan’s dad was Mexican.)

“Guys, this is Michael Jackson: The King of Pop. Its got an extensive never-before-seen 52-page full color booklet inside. It’s 2 Cd’s, 150 minutes of pure Michael magic. The new hit smash “Childhood” is on here from the up-coming family feature ‘Free Willy 2″, its got Billie Jean on it.”

“Who the FUCK is Billie Bean?!?!” yelled Ricky.

Dan smashes the CD to the bus floor and it goes sliding.

“Are you fucking gay dude?” Sean screams in my face.

“White bitch!” Dan punches me in my stomach.

“He’s a fucking child molester, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

“This kid’s a queer.” “Yeah fuck this kid.”

Dan, Sean, and Ricky laugh as they collectively move to the front of the bus.

In class Brittany asks if I “really had a Michael Jackson CD on the bus.” She laughs at me in front of everyone.

“He’s he King of Pop, didn’t you see “The Wiz ?!?!” I yell back sweating.

“Only faggots and child molester kids who’ve been child molested listen to Michael Jackson. Are you a child child molestor?????” yelled Sean.

“Yeah, were you molested?!?!” yelled Ricky.

Ricky and Dan high five each other.

The next 3 years of my life are considered to be the worst 3 ever. I look back as if I was John McCain and that school was a prison camp. Everyday became a Michael Jackson ball touching nightmare. Every moment spent looking around corners and blacking out during swirlies.

Thanks Michael, you really touched me.