Michael Jackson, the late
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.
What is it about Michael Jackson, exactly, that attracts a vast over-representation of the touchy and hyperbolic to his fandom? And don’t try to tell me about his many non-touchy, non-hyperbolic fans; I am talking about the vast army of gibbering, defensive nutters that orbit him like the rings of Saturn. If I could, I’d prescribe them a double dosage of Buddha Mind, but they’d probably wig out from the sudden mental detox.
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.
If you can’t read that, click here to open a bigger version.
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…
The fans, they write themselves!
the jokes they write themselves, sometimes to Facebook
raincoaster 