There's nothing good about a big day for celebrity death.
Michael Jackson's lifelong and palpable dislike for Farrah Fawcett took a cruel twist today when he tried to outshine her one last time.
I had tried, loaded like a catapult to buy a Jackson ticket for the historic London shows. Previously the urge was not so close to the surface so perhaps he had something that locked it in, made it hardwired.
Having failed, today's revelation of paramedic mediocrity was.... what can you say?
A shock? Or the only epitaph possible?
That UCLA hospital, so infamous for previous celebrity leaks took over 2 hours to confirm death on a body who was cold for 2 hours before arrival, well I guess they were waiting for the lawyers or the media department to pitch up before quitting.
Or the chief doctor whose book release we will keenly await.
The only thing I know for certain is that Neverland's legacy as a tourist attraction is confirmed and our morbid bloodlust for celebrity is fed once again.
Drink deep, friends. Drink from the well you dug.
Your conscience is your own. Personally I have never purchased an edition of Heat.
One suggestion where I reside is for us all to wear one glove at midnight and play Bille Jean.
But as a medic, the last time I wore only one glove, there was only once other person in the room and given a free choice one of us and probably two didn't really want to be there.
And although I played Earth Song in the background, very loudly, it didn't seem to soothe the pain. No the inner connection was very different.
And anyway I think two is too few for a vigil.
But Michael Jackson demise's could probably never have been cured by Anusol regardless of what you will read in the redtops.
He will be sorely missed, but not just by the many children.
There may be no other end for a man who lives his childhood as an adult and lives his adulthood as a child. I've never seen Benjamin Button so I don't really know.
Or maybe there was a way out.
With cosmetic surgery? I doubt it. Though I am sure all the doctors were paid well.
With a true friend who wasn't a leech? Well, he'd have to find one first and anyway, where's the profit in that.
Now it's starting to feel like a familiar refrain. Isn't it Britney? (I know she tunes in - you see that one follower?)
Either way somewhere along the line we lost him.
One of a kind. He won't be the last unique sacrifice.
But he may be the biggest for a good while. Some claim! A great boast for the worms.
So who were the folks who sowed the seeds of destruction and who really killed him.
Who really killed him?
The fans? I think not. That was pure love and in the end that was all he had, certainly not money.
Family? Ask them. Tune if to countless documentaries in the next 2 decades. Don't decide now. You 'll have plenty of primetime to make your mind up.
Maybe the medics who greedily prescribed him his opiates and disgraced the profession were just the final straw.
Maybe the photo of him intubated which I just saw on CNN a couple of hours after death was reported and clearly taken by a paramedic is acceptable reportage.
Maybe in your world friends, not mine.
Then maybe I live in Neverland.
