Steve Harvey said it best, when you got giraffe money, well… you just get a bit different.

Steve Harvey meant this in relation to Michael Jackson, who is undeniably different.  And the man in the mustard yellow suit has a point.  The fact that the King of Pop has enough money to even inquire about how to get a giraffe, let alone actually buy one like he did, almost ensures that M.J.’s weirdness will careen farther and farther down the pathways of nuttiness.  Such are the joys and privileges of wealth.  And I have no problem with that.

It would be unseemly to have incredible amounts of wealth and NOT own some bizarre exotic animal.  (I myself would buy a grizzly bear and, as I have already said, breed and manipulate its genes until I had a miniature version small enough to put in a backpack and market to Japanese school girls.)  This goes double if the owner of said wealth uses his wealth to either throw lavish parties for the purpose of impressing many women, to advance some form of super and/or mad science, or to threaten the world order as we know it.   It goes one and half times for those who have earned their wealth in either a nefarious or incredibly redneck fashion, the lottery, through a lawsuit against a neighbor, or by striking gold in particular.

I do, however, wonder: what level of Michael Jackson-ness you have to inherently have to want to buy foreign faunae when you are not in a position to meticulously flaunt your lucre?  How the devil do you get a hold of some wildebeest or crocodile, HECK, how do you find out how to get a hold of one of them beasties even, ifn ye ain’t got a spare hundy grand lyin’ bout?!!  I don’t know.  I guess that’s what the Internet is for.  But then if ya got one ya got to take care of the critter, cause you can’t exactly do like Mr. One Sequined Glove and pay somebody (probably a trained expert) to look after the thing.  And ya gotta know that their poo stinks even worse than the domesticated beasts we normally allow in our territories.   Plus you can’t just feed those things table scraps like a dog or a cat.  They need eucalyptus leaves and bamboo shoots and zebra flesh to live!  And that’s expensive.  Plus getting a license for those things has to be terrible

What’s even more expensive is what happens when the monster attacks a friend or relative or nosy neighbor kid.  No need to dwell on that, ’specially given the recent news from Connecticut, but seriously there is a reason that the organ grinding business is going under, namely insuring the monkeys against bites is too expensive for a poor organ grinder!  What’s more folks odd enough to buy an animal not merely to impress others, dispose of too much riches, or for work but rather for companionship is likely to form some odd imaginary relationship to the animal.  And that nonsense seems even more likely when that pet is basically a wild animal.  They probably bought the thing thinking it would be their friend, when all the critter cares about is what any animal (and most people) care about, food and mating!  So the emotional costs to these fragile individuals would be almost to high to count if these critters either died or proved how dumb and wild they are!

All in all it makes no sense to this one.  If you want to expend that kind of money and energy on a fantasy born pipe dream spend it on something worthwhile, like buying the brand new book from Boodachitaville!  You can find it here!  If you are entertaining any notions of wasting money then this is where you should do it and not on some dumb giraffe.  No matter how graceful they appear, or how hypnotic their spots are.

The Spots….

Spots….

-Bob

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Listen, I know I kinda promised to use this weeks blog to help us all get a bit richer by coming up with idea for useful tasks we could train vermin to do for us at a profit. And, no that is not nuts, that is genius so shut up! But then Michael Jackson died. And there is no way I can ignore the passing of such a… person without making at least a few comments on the matter. It also doesn’t hurt to change my topic seeing as how after thinking and thinking about it that the only jobs I can think of for vermin to do were preparing newspaper for recycling by shredding it and cleaning up little bits of crud by carrying it to their dens and both of those ideas would be ruined by the little nasties habit of peeing everywhere they go. Still the theory is sound I say! If our society saw fit we could totally find a use for these pests.
(I’ll let you make your own terrible “Michael Jackson as society’s pest” joke here as a transition.)
Michael Jackson was more than that horrible and totally inappropriate joke that you just thought! Michael Jackson was once a beloved icon and hero to lots of America.
Michael Jackson defined cool for us in the Nineteen Eighties.
Michael Jackson showed us how high a single individual could soar, how influential and powerful one person could become through the power of music.
Then Michael Jackson showed us how, almost overnight, Pepsi and a few botched surgeries could take all of that love and respect away.
Michael Jackson soon began to fill another role in our world, a role that was almost as important as being our beloved wunderkind, the role of being the nations creepy weirdo who lives just a little to close to our house.
After showing us how much we could love and desire to emulate one man for his talent and coolness Michael Jackson then showed us how far we could tolerate one man’s utter strangeness and creepiness without chasing him from our midst with lit torches like he was some sort of high voiced Frankenstein monster.
Michael Jackson let us test our national capacity to cut a guy some slack based entirely off of who he was before “that” happened.
In some ways, Micheal Jackson was like one of the Roman Emperors of old. After winning the love and admiration of a nation in his youth, MJ began to first show a few quirks and oddities, the single glove and the Elephant Man skeleton, that we could enjoy as eccentricities, odd ornaments of his character that bespoke of how he truly was not like us. But, again as with the Roman Emperors, with time his desires began to offend and disturb us with their expense and questionable morality, such as owning Neverland Ranch or being friends with Elizabeth Taylor, even as he ceased to look anything like the young man we had known and adored.
In time Jackson even became so strange and disturbing a figure that we had to take him out for offending and outraging every sensibility of society, just as the Praetorian Guard had to do to the Emperors. True we did it with jokes and investigations, and rightly so I might add cause that guy was weird. And, unlike the Emperors, Michael Jackson died from something other than being stabbed to death, so you got to give him that.
The point stands that for almost a good two decades Michael Jackson was our nation’s beloved, respected, admired, young hero turned strange, barely tolerated, powerful, creepy, weird guy in chief and was the standard of how much weird we would tolerate in the rich and famous.

Now with Michael Jackson gone who will we look to in order to be reminded of how far the innocent can fall and to measure the creepiness of other celebrities against so that their perverse and illegal lifestyles seem more palatable? 

Eh, Good enough for me.

-Bob

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