And I have to respect His decisions in these matters.
I never particularly liked Michael Jackson. I’m not being a music snob – I own enough Rush albums to choke Geddy Lee’s shnozz, if that makes this any easier to take – I just never liked it. But I didn’t like his music in 2nd grade – I was more of an El DeBarge man, if you must know – and I don’t like it now, and while he may not have been a child molestor, yes he was. But now he’s gone, and now we’ll never cure cancer. Or something. I’m sure there’s some reason why, two weeks after he floated to his reward on a pillowy cloud of lab-grade pharmacuticals, everything is a tribute to Him, the Greatest Human Ever To Live. So, fuck him, fuck that 70’s chick with all the hair, that guy who isn’t Donovan McNabb, that dude from that one old cop show, and everyone who brings any of this up, including me, and let’s hope Madonna’s next.
When Neal Peart dies I’m going to light myself on fire. In a spinning, strobe lit drum kit 50 feet above the stage. Tickets go on sale now. Post here if you have any good Dead Michael Jackson jokes, or if you have his doctor’s phone number.