Boggart Blog Exclusive: Jacko’s Death Faked, We Reveal Why. by ianrthorpe @ 2009-06-27 – 17:17:07
It was inevitable that people would quickly start to claim Michael Jackson is not really dead. It happened with Buddy Holly, Elvis, Marilyn Monroe, Jim Morrison and Janis Joplin who all found it possible to be dead, dead famous and at the same time evade the all seeing eye of the media. But at Boggart Blog we like to go a step further and so we will reveal why Whacko Jacko and his handlers decided death was the only way left to salvage the singer’s stalled career.
For many of the superstars who have become more successful when dead, embarrassing revelations about their private lives that would have damaged them in life only enhanced their reputation in death. Did we care that Elvis liked to eat fried banana sandwiches while sitting on the lav? Did the knowledge that Marilyn did not change her knickers every day diminish her sex appeal. In death and in the fantasies of millions Elvis was always the slim, hip swivelling teenager and MM’s panties were always pristine. Jim Morrison; in reality fat dead guy in a bath: in public perception always the slender, beautiful rebel. See what we mean.
Most of the evidence we have to back up our allegation is circumstantial of course but just apply logical reasoning and you will understand why Jackson’s death had to be announced now. We are not saying the hospital where he was treated or the Los Angeles coroners office were complicit in the deception, there were people in Jackson’s entourage who were so skilled in administering medication they had managed to drug up the star enough to have him declared clinically sane on several occasions. The drug that put him into a deep coma and slowed his heart rate to one beat per minute was administered by a member of the entourage and the authorities had no way of knowing what had really happened.
Why was this done now, in the days leading up to what meeja talking heads predicted would be a triumphant comeback with a season of 50 gigs at London’s O2 arena? The clue is in the venue. O2, Oxygen – the Oxygen of publicity was what was needed to kick start record and DVD sales and make some money for the parasites and hangers on who had lived off Jacko for so long. To die would be sad but to die on the verge of a comeback would be tragedy worthy of Grand Opera.
And why would the singer agree to such a course. Consider the dichotomy of Michael Jackson. Certain aspects of his lifestyle forced him to become a virtual recluse, he spent weeks on end closeted in Neverland with only little boys, cartoon characters and Jesus Juice for company and yet this was a man lived for acclaim, craved adoration, fed on the adoring attentions of his fans. He even liked to cast himself as Jesus, an unfortunate habit which led to that infamous Jarvis Cocker moment. So how was it possible to earn a living, be adored and indulge in certainly lifestyle options that do not bear close scrutiny?
Be dead of course?
Yes Michael had for more to gain from being dead than either Elvis or Jim Morrison before him. Once dead he could be a publicity shunning control freak and a publicity seeking fame junkie simultaneously. And whatever he was getting up to in his secret hideaway, in the public perception he would ever be that cute squeaky voiced kid with a normal nose.
It was not in Michael’s make up to slip away quietly, to have an empty plane flown into a mountain, pay a fat tramp to sit in a bath eating speed, to have six burly henchmen and a crane lift him off a golden toilet. No, Jacko had to go out big. A million tickets sold for the O2 gigs, a million people wailing and gnashing their teeth at news of his death (most because they were worried about not getting their money back) would appeal to Jacko’s sense of occasion.
There was no way the concerts could ever go ahead of course. Apart from what abuse of prescription drugs had done to Michael’s heart there was the question of dancing. While the fans would be expecting to see the old dance moves that resembled a spazza on speed the weird one’s body had deteriorated to such an extent due to excessive surgery bits would drop off if he stood up too quickly.
We understand the original plan was for a lot of headline grabbing showboating, concerts cancelled, postponed, will he, won’t he rumours flying around, pre publicity shots of Michael looking frail but bravely insisting the shows would go on. Then the dramatic collapse twenty minutes into the first concert. Shock, horror. Tsunami of sympathy. Diana moment, spontaneous outpourings of grief, mega record and DVD sales, the posthumous autobiography dictated to a psychic, the Bubbles the Chimp reveals all expose syndicated to Murdoch owned publications around the world.
Unfortunately something happened that made it all go pear shaped. While many of Michael Jackson tickets languished unsold in the safes of agencies that had snapped them up and other were being given away as competition prizes news started to filter through that the Take That tour had shifted a million and a half tickets and the boys were playing to packed houses and rapturous reviews. And furthermore Take That’s clown faces were only painted on.
Michael Jackson could just not face the fact that he was not as popular as four has beens from Manchester. In a fit of pique he brought his death scene forward to try and steal attention from the boy band.
More Great Humour (in the worst possible taste) from Greenteeth Multi Media
Strewth! The Wallabis Have Been At The Opium.
The Australian Island of Tasmania is the largest grower of legally licenced opium poppies in the world. But strange things have been happening, crop circles have appeared in the poppy fields. And this has produced a new theory of how crop circles are made.
The World Will End Soon So Check Your Insurance Cover.
It's a few months since Boggart Blog posted an article on the prediction that the world will end much sooner than expected. As usual the blog post carried our warning tht Boggart Blog should never be taken seriously. Even so a comment spammer turned up today to advise our readers to upgrade their insurance cover. But how do you claim for end of the world damage?
Monday, June 29, 2009
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Liverpools's Three Graces, The Liver Building (with its two famous Liver birds), The Cunard - White Star Line building and The Liverpool Port Authority building (Image source)
In school we used to have our own version of that old northern favourite On Ilkley Moor Baht ‘At. The refrain went “All Yorkshiremen are twats, all Yorkshiremen are twats…” There is no truth in that of course, Yorkshire is full of very nice people, no more twats per thousand head of population than anywhere else. I still sing the schoolyard version, with a slightly changed lyric whenever I visit a redeveloped area in one of our major cities:
All architects are twats, all architects are twats, all arch - i - tects are twats…”
That is not true either and would have remained a little private amusement had it not become necessary to write about one modernist architect whose outstanding twattery taints all other members of his profession. Just recently a row of epic proportions has erupted between HRH The Prince of Wales, defender of all that is traditional and worthy and fuddy duddy, patron of The Village Green Preservation Society and talker to trees and Prince of Architectural Darkness, Richard Rogers
Far from preserving the village green, Rogers would like to see the few that remain covered in concrete, glass and steel.
Regular readers will know by now that Boggart Blog is no fan of Royalty. We have often said Prince Big Ears is a twat. And we all know Prince Big Ears hates modern architects. That in itself however does not mean we like modern architects any more than he does. In his latest bust up with the monstrous carbuncle merchants however he has a point.
Many modern architects share a total disregard for the aesthetic tone of the areas that will surround their buildings. Their attitude can be summed up as "we are very clever people and have lots of bits of paper to prove it, therefore we are right and nobody else's opinion is worth listening to. It is exactly the same attitude as that displayed by the boy-scientists this blog has spent so much time berating for their hubris.
The latest architectural outrage to upset our future King is a plan to plonk a modern concrete, steel and glass legoland development in the middle of elegant low rise Regency and Victorian buildings. The building of such a development borders on vandalism. The ethos of modern architecture could be "if we can't replicate the beauty of traditional developments that employ styles dating back hundreds of years we will destroy beauty and replace it with ugliness. To know this is true we only have to look at the monstrosity known as The Gherkin in London's financial district. So badly designed and ill conceived a piece of ego tripping is it, it even looks out of place and ugly among the functional tower blocks like the Stock Exchange building, the NatWest tower (now Tower 42) 99 Bishopsgate and the Heron Building.
Not all modernism is bad. It is largely a question of personal taste but Canary Wharf, the media village in Manchester Docklands and other brownfield developments look fine, the styles of buildings don't clash and the areas are well laid out. It is when modernism intrudes in a well established area the problems start. The most avant garde of modern buildings are seldom more than an ego wank for the architect and so blending in with the surroundings is not a consideration. The architect wants to stamp his ego on the surroundings thus the more his project resembles a boil on the nose the better he likes it.
"You fuckers will remember me," is the message. This is made very clear in the petulant attitude displayed by Richard Rogers when his project was derailed. He accused Prince Charles of single handedly wrecking it. Well Charles had used his influence but don't forget Rogers and his financial backers had ridden roughshod over the objections of many residents of the areas surrounding his projected development.
picture ), "the three graces" . When Liverpool was bidding to be the City of Culture a plan to add a "fourth grace" were unveiled. This in itself was crass and uncultured and showed the bureaucrats running Liverpool's bid were ignorant and uncultured. There are tree graces in classical mythology, end of story. (Right: A Liver Bird, (legend) its hard to get both into one shot
As if this faux pas was not enough of the designs submitted the favourite to be chosen was a concrete structure that looked like one of those hamburger shaped diners we see in American films and TV shows. Fortunately the people of Liverpool had to good sense to set up a public outcry and stop that scheme going ahead. That a senior architect whose training includes (allegedly) aesthetic appreciation as well as the science and technology of structural engineering could not see why such a design would never fit in with the original buildings called three graces brings to mind this:
My name is Ozymandias king of kings,
look on my works ye mighty and despair.
And look how he ended up.