I’m sure you won’t have heard this anywhere, but Michael Jackson died on Friday. Whatever you thought of his utterly quizzical lifestyle, nobody can deny that he leaves behind something of an impressive and unique contribution to musical history that is unliekly to be forgotten any time soon.
What will be forgotten – probably very promptly – are the less desirable elements of his existence; the efforts to make himself into a lego-faced white guy, for starters. It’ll be the same people who were slagging him silly last week, who will now pretend to be personally offended when someone cracks one of the inevitible tasteless gags that will now be circulating. You know the people I mean; the folks who shed tabloid tears over a total stranger who bought it in a tunnel, even though they called her a disgrace while she was alive… and still siezed the opportunity for a bonus booze-up on that bizarre ‘day of national mourning’ we were gifted.
Why is it that we only seem to love these people once they’re dead? There’ll probably be some wacko Jacko fanclub fatwa on Martin Bashir and Jarvis Cocker by the end of the month, despite the base satisfaction we all enjoyed from their bad-boy antics.
In conclusion, Foilface have decided we will all live as officially dead people from now on for the good of our recent music. This means you can idolise us stupid to show everyone just what a caring person you are. We tick all the boxes – you probably didn’t know us, you didn’t really care about us, and anyone who doesn’t understand your latest excuse for an almighty self-indulgent bender is clearly just heartless scum.
