The King is Dead.

I didn’t drive my chevy to the levy. I didn’t hang out with people drinking whiskey and rye. But it was a sad, sad day. See, I’m old. Well, not old exactly. But, old enough to remember when Michael Jackson was cool. Really cool. We called him the King of Pop. And it was a moniker he earned.

Memories of watching MJ (before “MJ” was Michael Jordan) sing Dirty Diana, and before that, Bad… Wow. Remember skating to Thriller? I do. That guy was cool. And we loved him. I grew up to Michael Jackson’s music.

It doesn’t matter to me what he did to himself later, how he squandered away his money, whose ashes he kept in his home. That guy entertained us well. I’m going to miss him.


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