Oh dear. This will not end well (and if you read the comic books, you KNOW it didn’t) but here’s poor, young Master Dick getting seriously pushed around by upper management, just because they all know damn well as a ne’er do well circus orphan he’s got exactly zero other offers on his plate.
But enough of this nonsense! Let us view the super-sekrit, shocking videotape of Grayson‘s contract negotiations with a certain shady Mister Bruce Wayne.
Don’t you love those complete strangers who reach out of the blue to send you hate mail and then follow it up with more hate mail saying they are SO DONE talking to you and then, when you don’t reply, send you even more hate mail about how they are LIKE TOTALLY NOT TALKING TO YOU NOPE NOT TO YOU NOT EVER AGAIN THEY ARE SO DONE WITH THAT. And then they send you one more to make sure you got the message, and then they block you.
Apparently something on Blogtalk Radio is set to tear me, personally, a new asshole on Friday the 16th. Apparently I’m part of some media conspiracy (I can only say that the pay is terrible) to destroy MJ. Honestly, Jackson himself doesn’t interest me; it’s always been the fans. Why? Because they are the extreme cases of fandom, and if you want to learn about the Celebrity-Industrial Complex, you have to look at the fans. They are what it’s about, and the wingnutty ones are particularly fascinating, the way any pathology is fascinating.
The PR campaign didn’t have quite the effect intended: instead of causing a flood of comments to any of my blogs, it has resulted in a grand total of two nasty Facebook message strings, both from Australians. I guess there’s not much to do in Australia this time of year.
Tegan Ellis is SO not talking to me. Over and over.
Lindy Bartter is also not talking to me, but in worse English
Tegan lists her interests as Animals, Friendship, Equality, Compassion, Peace, Honesty, Intellectual Conversations, Rainbows, Horse Riding, and her favorite band is…
Michael Jackson, polarizing cultural icon, musician, actor, dancer, and child molester, has been dead exactly one year. Despite the worldwide health-focused publicity at the time of the tragic event, some people are only now waking up to “Michael Jacksonism” and realizing what critical health issues they should have addressed long ago.
Enjoy?if you can. Watch to the very end to be completely freaked the fuck right out. I mean, a lecherous pig dancing with a flirtatious maiden is one thing; an expressive lecherous pig who dances with a flirtatious maiden is quite another.
And it reminds me of my music nerd friend Stephen. No matter what music nerd story you have, he can one-up it. No, trust me, he can. I don’t care about your “the time I slept with Mick Jagger” story; thousands of people can say the same (perhaps even tens of thousands?). He can top it with the “time Elvis Costello played an acoustic set in my flat.” He’s from London, and he has many friends who still haven’t left the small ville they called home way back when. Many of them are music nerds as well, and to them he was, one day, attempting to explain the difference between the Canadian music scene and the British music scene. He finally said, “This year, I’ve bought not one but two albums featuring songs where horses go through the ice.”
Oh dear. This will not end well (and if you read the comic books, you KNOW it didn’t) but here’s poor, young Master Dick getting seriously pushed around by upper management, just because they all know damn well as a ne’er do well circus orphan he’s got exactly zero other offers on his plate. 
raincoaster 