Now that the trial is over we’d like to give the King of Pop a bit of advice.
We
don’t mind the hair, or your incredibly fair complexion- but the Ferris
Wheels have to go. That’s right- the llamas, the chimps, the camels,
the merry-go-rounds- all that has to go. The secret chamber and
especially the Peter Pan paraphernalia have to go too.
Oh, and the shoulder pads need to be replaced with buckles, or leather tassels.
Mr. Jackson, its time to start acting like the Gary, Indiana native that you are.
Just think, if you dressed like Kurt Cobane, wore a bullet proof vest like 50, grew a beard like Willie Nelson, and littered your next album with odes to scorned manual laborers, imprisoned criminals, and struggling blue collar cities like Allentown, Flint, and Trenton. You would never have to worry about kids wanting to spend time with you. And the sick and poor children that you help on a day-to-day basis? You'd never have to lay eyes on them again either. Kids just aren't comfortable around overly masculine, chest thumping men. Upon sight of the new you, we can be sure that they would never again jump at the chance to spend a day with you. So rather than spending all of your time comforting sick and destitute children, you could spend the rest of your life sleeping with groupies, evading taxes, and producing disingenuous music about single mothers, teen angst, drive-bys, or loser couples in the Heartland (see Jack and Diane)- all while wearing a guitar on your back.
Its time to get with the program Mr. Jackson. This country is just not ready to embrace androgynous pop icons that truly care about children; or children that truly care about androgynous pop icons.
Forget the kids, (unfortunately) we still like our men inhumane (see R. Kelly for more insight).
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