Everybody's Got Something To Hide Except For Me And My Monkey

So I'm at a birthday party yesterday, and we're sitting around drinking and smoking, and somehow the topic turns to Michael Jackson. Big surprise. But it's OK, since Michael Jackson is one thing that ANYBODY can talk about, which attests to his fame and impact.

Somebody inquires as to whether Bubbles, Jackson's pet chimpanzee, is still alive. I say I think he's dead, but I really don't know, so I fall into my famous addiction of fact-checking anything via my iPhone.

I learned two interesting things about Bubbles that I shared with everybody:

1. Bubbles is still alive. (He's been living in an animal sanctuary, because if you don't know, mature chimpanzees are fucking savages.)

2. Bubbles allegedly* tried to kill himself in 2003.

One of those facts is way more interesting than the other.

How the fuck does a chimp try to kill itself? Although the "why" isn't so hard to figure out:



*Can't find any sort of real confirmation -- beyond a Wikipedia citation -- that Bubbles did, in fact, try to kill himself.

"Bubbles the chimp's personnal [sic] style defined an era."

Everyone Loves You When You're Dead

It's kind of a shame that MJ had to die in order to get the kind of music sales he would have needed to get himself out of debt. Like, it's going to do him any good now, people.

If there was an afterlife and he was in it, I'd imagine he'd be kind of pissed about that.

Sunbeams Are Not Made Like Me

Speaking of famous dead musical legends...

"Very sad. Looks like a normal soccer-playing kid."

I agrees.

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I guess I was feeling a bit overconfident because by the time the waitress was able to direct the woman’s attention over to the bar to see who had ordered the drink for her, I was already masturbating.

Tom Oatmeal is my internet find of the workday.

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Things I Would Like To Learn How to Do:

1. Photoshoppin' -- like, actually Photoshop shit, not just add text to a photo or use the macrame filter or something.

2. Make videos. Just like, record shit off of TV or the Internet and make it into a video, and not just hold a camcorder or an iPhone in front of the TV.

3. Moonwalk. I've wanted to moonwalk forevs. Being old, white, fat, and not terribly coordinated are four strikes against me. Also: Running Man.



4. Drink less.

5. Have amazing sex.

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Things I Used To Do But No Longer Do Because They Reminds Me of Jessica:

1. Watch Flight of the Concords.

2. Watch 30 Rock.

3. Watch It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia. (OK, I've never watched it, but I want to, but I can't, because it would remind of Jessica, who after we broke up developed a love for the show.)

4. Walk on Sutter Street.

5. Be happy.

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Eight or nine hangovers in a row, plus about six hours a sleep a night, plus being ridiculously busy at work all week leaves Dave with little energy to do any work at all on Friday.

I'll Hit You With A Dose of OakTown Power

2:30 and my hangover is still going strong. I need a drink.

However, if you're all saddypants about Michael Jackson's death (or Farrah Fawcett, or you're making plans for Willie Nelson's death, etc etc etc.), here are two useful tips for you that the Internet has provided.

1. If you're going to have a vigil on his spot on the Hollywood Walk of Fame, make sure it's the right spot.

Via the hilarious Ned Hepburn, via something called Clandestine Industries:

Last night nobody told these people that this Hollywood star was for this Michael Jackson, not the King of Pop. The actual MJ star was covered for the Bruno movie premiere.

2. If you don't have time for a vigil, but just want to drop something off at his childhood home (you know, the one where his dad regularly beat him), please leave something that Michael Jackson (or whoevs) would appreciate (e.g. teddy bears, flowers, baby chimpanzees) and not, say, an old jersey from a washed-up, broke football player who's only connections to the music industry is that he once appeared in a MC Hammer video, and that one time his crazy now-dead girlfriend from that one group burned his fucking house down.

OK, the 2 Legit 2 Quit Video started playing in one of my tabbed windows while I was typing this. I am helpless to resist:

Don't Stop 'Til You Get Enough

I don't have a Facebook page, or a MySpace page, or a Twitter account, so I can't share in the joy of alerting everyone I know that Michael Jackson died a little while ago. I'm pretty sure that's what blowing up on the Web 2.0 shit right now.

But I was reminded of a great piece that Jacob Weisberg wrote for Slate back in 2005, making the case that Jackson was NOT a pedophile, just a weird guy:

But the main reason I never bought the prosecutor's depiction of Jackson as a premeditating sexual predator "grooming" his victims is that it doesn't ring true in psychological terms. Whether or not he has ever touched a boy inappropriately, Michael Jackson seems too emotionally stunted to act in any grown-up way, including a deviant sexual one. Naive, juvenile, and terribly damaged, he seems pathetically incapable not just of criminal intent, but of adult consciousness.

For all that money, homie never had an easy life. Rest easy, MJ.

Also: MJ's egomania was something else, so much so that I forgot about the Moonwalker video game. ("Want more proof that Mr. Jackson's not all there? He has a pet monkey named Bubbles... and he put the little guy in the game. But wait, it gets better. When MJ comes in contact with Bubbles, he turns into a robotic killing machine. Regular Michael was pretty badass with his fire attack, but Robot Michael has friggin' lasers and nothing beats lasers.")