A historical overview of the death of Michael Jackson and the subsequent hoax that Goldblum dies in ravine in New Zealand.
(an excerpt from )… CHAPTER 2: MICHAEL JACKSON IS DEAD, GOLDBLUM LIVES. THE WORLD’s FUCKED in JUNE 2009. (R.I. P Michael. I miss you and also the Jackson 5 (but mainly you)).
The only positive out of this crazy shithole of a world is that my pig Kenny Powers has finally arrived.
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.. (PLEASE NOTE THIS IS AN EXCERPT< AND THAT IS PROBABLY WHY YOU WON’T KNOW WHAT I’M CRAPPING ON ABOUT AT THE START OF THIS WRITING)
To be perfectly honest, I wasn’t really in any dire need of any antidotes in the immediate future (except DMSO which would come in very handy if there was Nuclear Fallout. DMSO is made out of sulphur or some crap like that and Is helpful against radiation. I would get some).
I decided to look up where to get DMSO on the Internet,
But I immediately rued the day I ever went back onto that computer.….
The virtual writing was on the virtual wall.
Michael Jackson was dead. (shamon : ( (sad face))
My childhood hero, and the first person who ever made me delusionally think that I would ever make it famous as a black pop singer - which therefore made me paint my face with shoe polish… well he was dead. Confirmed.
Michael Jackson was dead. Killed in Neverland by a murderer. Or something like that, the details weren’t important at the time. All that was important was that he was gone.
The only way I thought I could pay tribute was by putting on a single rubber glove from the dishes, and holding it in the air with my head down as I yelled:
I did that for about 30 seconds, then took off the glove, put it back in the sink and thought: ‘I wish that glove was silver and had lots of shining diamantes on it, as opposed to being green and yellow with bits of soap scum and vegetable peelings on it. And I wish it wasn’t so moist inside, and i wish it didnt take almost ten minutes to get onto my hand properly.’.
Michael Jackson was dead. This was bullshit. This was the worst day of my life.
It had only been two weeks ago that I had realized the lyrics in Man In The Mirror were:
‘And no message could have been any clearer’ as opposed to ‘And no moustache could evade any clippers’.
It was like I was rediscovering MJ again only to have my heart smashed against jagged rocks as his death was announced. I could only imagine how Elizabeth Taylor was feeling. And of course Tito and all the other Jackson 5. And all the Jacksons actually.
It was the same burning sadness I held when I found out that Kurt Cobain died, but the silver lining on that day was that my brother was born so I got over Kurt pretty quickly with the excitement.
It dawned on me that the stress of preparing for his final live concerts may have driven him to suicide. But then I remembered he had been murdered or died of natural causes or something similar.
If only real life imitated art and he came back to life as a ghoul just like in the infamous video clip for Thriller.
Michael Jackson was dead.
I cried singing along to Don’t Stop Till You Get enough while eating a stale bread roll and almost choked on the crumbs. I wish I had choked, and died. To be with Michael.
But while all this was occurring, and amidst the sadness and confusion that I was feeling - and also the extra confusion because as I scrolled through the internet there was a sidenote that Farah Fawcett had also just died of anal cancer (unrelated to Michael Jackson’s death) (???? Is anal cancer new????).
But through all this grief came a shining unicorn of hope and light…
The silver lining to this Michael-Jackson’s-dead-body shaped cloud…
AKA my worst actor
AKA the world’s tallest and most annoying Jewish American celebrity
Not only was he dead, but it was also rumoured that he had fallen to his death in my home country New Zealand while acting. My immediate thought was that someone from the crew had pushed him to his rocky demise because his acting had probably been so annoying on set that they couldn’t help themselves.
My second thought was that this may have been a sign from god that things were ‘on the up’ for me and my pig’s destiny. And a way to say to the world ‘sorry, for taking MJ. Take this death of Goldblum as a peace offering, and a statement so you know everything will be ok,’
The New Zealand connection also made it personal, like god had done this just for me (and my pig: due to arrive in Berlin in 12 days).
My third thought was that Goldblum would have said some kind of annoying half-insightful comment as he fell down the ravine like ‘and so it was ordained. My body is only a vessel and my soul will continuuuuuuuuuue’
I am only assuming that it was a ravine, as falling down them usually means certain death.
If I on the other hand was to fall down a ravine, I would make sure I yelled out something extremely classic like
‘I regret nothiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing’. Like the guy who jumps off the bridge in the Simpsons. Or
‘Anyone got any spare moneyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy?’
But back to the topic at hand.
Why did he haunt me so? In my dreams and in waking life it seemed he was always there to say something like, well, something condescending, in a slow American Jewish groan.
And now it was I who had the upper hand, as I was alive and about to find fame and fortune, while he was dead in New Zealand, home of my forebears, and the location of the Goldblum Must Retire/Die Fan headquarters (which I had created in 2005 in the garage of my flat). Ironic? Yes, I would say it was reasonably ironic, especially if there was a Hollywood movie made about my quest for the Guinness World Record for highest jump by a pig.
His mangled body was probably being rescued at this very moment by the Westpac Helicopter, only to be put into a grim black bodybag before being shipped back to the United States coated in an American flag.
Or would it be the star of David? And would he be returned to Israel?
Either way, his acting would be celebrated, his life would be celebrated, but I would not applaud. Although I would admit that he was good in The Fly I would not shed a tear for Goldblum. Not a single tear. Not like I was doing for Michael Jackson, the greatest pop star in the world.
I applauded Goldblum for not dying withered in a bed somewhere with AIDS or Ebola, but going out doing what he loved:
Aka being the most annoying actor on the planet, if not the universe.
Although he would make my life unhappier whenever he graced the silver screen, I suppose there was some kind of mutual respect between us.
I suppose you could say it was very similar to the antagonism that occurred between Luke Skywalker and Darth Vader. How the two feared each other but hated each other but also loved each other. Except I didn’t love Goldblum really.
Although the few differences between Goldblum and I’s relationship, and Skywalker and Vader’s relationship are as follows.
a) Goldblum was not my father
b) I did not have a mechanical hand like Skywalker
c) I did not love Goldblum (as previously stated)
d) Darth Vader’s acting was very very good. Goldblum’s was not.
e) Goldblum’s voice was more annoying than Darth Vader’s even though Darth Vader had a strange respiratory breathing apparatus that made his voice sound like a vacuum cleaner
f) At the time of his death Goldblum possibly didn’t actually know who I was, and therefore was probably not aware that we were enemies. But I would change that in the afterlife (if he is still acting, if not, I will let bygones be bygones)
This was the only possible thing that could have made me feel better about the death of Michael Jackon, and the exact same amount of indifference towards the death of Farrah Fawcett. That really had made the day confusing.
NOTE: ABORT ALL FEELINGS IMMEDIATELY AND RESORT TO EVEN WORSE DEPRESSION THAN BEFORE.
MICHAEL JACKSON IS CONFIRMED DEAD.
THE GOLDBLUM DEATH WAS A HOAX. I REPEAT.
THE GOLDBLUM DEATH WAS A HORRIBLE, HORRIBLE PRANK, A FALSE, TERRIBLE JOKE THAT IS OBVIOUSLY NOT FUNNY. BUT HE IS STILL, VERY MUCH ALIVE.
(I am not actually sure if the whole Farrah Fawcett having anal cancer and is dead or not is a hoax).
This is the worst day ever. Confirmed. Goldblum lives. And is no doubt, not retired from acting.
GOLDBLUM (a haiku about loss, and fake deaths)
What A Filthy Hoax
Your death had helped dull the pain
Michael is still dead