Because he was human, once

Before the aliens kidnapped him, somewhere in the mid-80's, and replaced him with some robot thing full of pus and space crickets, set upon us to unleash his deviant desires for small boys, pet chimps and theme parks, thus destroying one of the better parts of our 70's childhood, Michael Jackson was a damn good singer who made damn good songs.





I have no doubt the real Michael Jackson is locked up on a prison camp on Zeta Reticuli 4 - the same place those pus-blooded alien fucks put the pre-Vegas Elvis and Buddy Holly. And I know he's keeping the joint alive, singing and dancing every chance he can, waiting for the great escape home. One day he'll come flying back here in a saucer, show up that weird, alien thing that's stolen his life for the last twenty years or so, and record the best damn album you ever heard.

You just watch.

I don't know where you are, or how you are, or what the hell they're feeding you in prison. But you hang in there, old friend. I wanna rock with you, Michael - Don't stop til you get enough.