king of pop. it's so sad. to see michael jackson trotted out once a year at the music awards. they play some song from the eighties, inevitably, billie jean or thriller. and he shuffles out in his military regalia, does a few pops and locks, gets some lifetime achievement award, gets a standing ovation, and then launches into yet another "i'm so thankful" speech. everyone at home is all excited because it's "michael fucking jackson!" but somebody always grimaces and says, "man, he looks weird!" or "i can't believe he's related to janet." and finally, the host(s) come out and make a joke about him. about the face. about the monkey. about the little kids. about the whatever. he's a barely living legend. nobody even wants the real michael jackson. they just want the old him. they want him to be the same wind up doll he's been for the past couple years. and we wonder why he's all plastic surgeried up. the image of him is probably nothing like the real him. or the real him is the imaginary him. who knows. is there even a difference? he's only forty four. he has children. who are certainly doomed to make some psychiatrist crazy rich for sure. how scary is that? forty four.......it's sad when you become a caricature of yourself.......