An Open Letter to Prince: Advice You Must Take Before You Drop Dead

Michael Jackson is dead. Now about 750,000 fans who spent roughly 85 million dollars for tickets to his "This Is It Tour" have refunds in their hands, grief in their hearts and no freak to see.

Prince, you must take advantage of their grief. You can be the replacement freak for all those Wacko Jacko admirers, and all that money could be yours if you do the “See Me before I Drop Dead Tour.” (You could do this tour every year until you finally drop dead.)

Sure, Wacko Jacko fans are lunatics, but does it matter? It is not like you particularly care about your fanbase. I am sure at least a few of them have managed to breed and have dancing babies you can sue. Really instead of suing babies, you should be begging hospitals to give out your music instead of those tired old Mozart CDs. Probably about your only hope to get anyone under the age of 35 to listen to you again.

If the "Drop Dead Tour" and the hospital CD do not bring you the money and fame you still crave, you still can always get hip surgery and do the “Hump the Piano Tour” for all the fans who were in elementary school and too young to see you slithering your tight little ass across that piano and tantalizing us with “Do you want him? Or do you want me?” Hump that piano, baby!

Once you start humping that piano, why don’t you just break out all your filthy ditties and make it the “Dirty Forever Tour.” Bring all those freaky hits on the road Head, Jack U Off , and Let’s Pretend We’re Married. Of course, you must perform Erotic City, not the instrumental version that you have been teasing fans with for 10 years but the full vocal, “We can fuck until the dawn, making love 'til cherry's gone” rendition. On a similar note, stop changing “Sexuality” to “Spiritually.”

Congratulations on finding your religion and being a devoted Jehovah Witness. You are entitled to your religion and personal quest, but don't burden your fans with your crappy God is Great music. You owe it to your fans to give them the salaciousness that they desire. Actually, you owe it to the one fan who finally got out from under her parents' control, moved near a big city, and got enough money for a ticket, the year that you stopped saying “fuck.”

It's time to bring back the panty dropping songs, so you must make a deal with the JW church. You need to make a donation to the church that is so large that the Catholics will be jealous and the elders in the Watch Tower Society will be helping you sing Hide the Bone. You can have it all: your religion (keep private and out of your music), lots of money (isn't that want the whole Warner Bros. cheated and mistreated me pity party is really about?) and your artistic freedom. You can still write and sing your mature, politically aware songs like Colonized Mind, but please give us your Dirty Mind back before you drop dead.

Sincerely,

Garbageman's Daughter

Grieving on a Fallen Star, or Not

Michael Jackson died today.

I want to be sad, maybe even shed tear or two. To stimulate my grief, I listen to Thriller. Nothing. I stare at the original Thriller cover for awhile, which I had as a wall-size poster back in 1982 when I was nine. I look at it a long time. So that is what he looked like before all the surgeries and the loss of pigmentation, I guess I have forgotten. Still feeling nothing.

I remember staying up late to see the premier of Beat it on Friday Night Videos on NBC because I was only a part of the MTV generation in theory. I suddenly get the urge to email my friend Tracey who stayed over that night to watch it with me. But still nothing.

Although I should I have stopped, I guess I couldn’t get enough. So, I forced myself to try to remember if Thriller or 1999 was my first cassette. Prince’s breakthrough album came out only one month before Thriller. I can’t remember which I got first. Feeling the urge to turn off Thriller and switch to 1999. I still feel nothing for MJ.

I can’t make myself feel sad. Indifference keeps surfacing.

I mourned the loss of Jackson in 2005 when he faced accusations of child molestation for the second time. I stopped listening to him entirely. When his songs came on the radio, I turned the dial immediately, no matter how catchy the chorus or funky the beat.

He was acquitted of all charges against him, but that just means reasonable doubt existed. Innocent and not guilty are not the same. Michael Jackson had three things going for him during that trial: he had some of the best lawyers on the planet; his star power; and, the mother of the allegedly abused child was a money-seeking, star-obsessed, fame-hungry compulsive liar who was enough to cast an enormous shadow of reasonable doubt despite other witness testimony. So, Jackson walked out of the court room and withdrew from society.

Great performers don’t have to be flawless. But at the same time, having exceedingly amazing ability and talent doesn’t excuse inappropriate and harmful behavior. Jackson admitted to allowing young boys to sleep in his bed, and more than one child claimed to be abused.

Something was wrong at Neverland Ranch. Something was wrong within Michael Jackson. This is why I can’t grieve, perhaps.

A Message to Michael Jackson Fans from a Prince Fan

Dear Michael Jackson Fans:

Please accept my sincere condolences. I am sorry for your loss.

Truthfully, I am not feeling much grief for the King of Pop. It could be because he was an accused child molester. Or maybe I am just irritated that his two sons are both named Prince; he had the nerve to die on the 25th anniversary of Purple Rain; and, now all the Wacko Jacko crazies will flood the Prince boards.

Please don’t take this personally, but we don’t want you. We have enough of our own nutballs, so go check out the Madonna boards.

I bid you good luck in your search to find a new freak to idolize.

Sincerely,

A Prince Fan