Meanwhile, did anyone catch that the name of this writer's book is The Final Years of Michael Jackson? How creepy is that? It's apparently been the working title of the book for months. From theglobeandmail.com:

Mr. Halperin himself wasn't talking Friday, except to say that the timing of the book's publication shouldn't be construed as a rush job. "I timed it because I knew around this time he was a candidate to die. I'm being totally up-front about that.(His Montreal publisher also said Friday it always planned to have the book out before the concerts.)"

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His pattern of massive loans, massive defaults, fleeing, wooing the next sucker or sheikh, on the scale of hundreds of millions boggles the mind. He must've known it'd catch up with him someday.

If a novelist invented a great star who burned through tens of millions of dollars every year in whims and indulgences, constantly putting off his creditors and fleeing to the next locale, knowing he'd never pay, agents and publishers would reject this as outlandish and far-fetched. Yet that seems a sketch of jackson's life- spending like a fiend, constantly evading creditors on a massive scale.

I also wonder about his moral debts- like Christ being tempted by Satan , "all of this can be yours", I wonder if excessive public adulation didn't warp Jackson into thinking any desire of his should be fulfilled- the damning lawsuits and trials, yes.

That's what I refer to. Imagine living life on such a scale, where ideas of honoring debt, and perhaps ideas of morality, are absent- like a Roman emperor, the exploits of which, via Suetonius, are still appalling in their decadence. And abuse of innocents.

Imagine living the life of literally doing anything you want.

Jackson seemed to live the last fifteen years of his life like someone who knew he'd never repay his staggering debt. He lived as a person who let no whim go unfulfilled, and it was monstrous to behold. He behaved as if he'd won a trillion-dollar lottery, yet he didn't seem to have a single friend in the world. A voracious unhappiness. Of course it's all speculation, but a novelist couldn't convincingly create a figure like Jackson.

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You saw the joke from Popbitch?

Farrah Fawcett gets to Heaven, and God meets her at the Pearly Gates. He says, "Oh Farrah, I'm SUCH a fan of yours! Got the poster and everything! I'd like to give you a wish, anything you want."

Farrah says, "Thanks, God, that's really nice of you. I'd like for all the children in the world to be safe."

And BAM! God killed Michael Jackson.

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