Michael Jackson was a weird guy. Mariah Carey is a plump self-loving has-been and Kelly Osborne is a no-talent piglet with a phony English accent.

There I said it. I’ve spoken the truth; words you will never hear said by one celebrity about another.

I didn’t watch it - the Jackson memorial; I figured if I wanted to throw up I could just drink a gallon of milk and spin in circles for 30 seconds. I did hear reports however and couldn’t miss the crap slathered on Yahoo.

By (smartly) not turning on the television I missed watching a section of society that comprises of the not-so-bright who memorialized a delusional, drug-addicted pedophile (reportedly) as though he was a first cousin of Jesus Christ.

Further, I find it hard to believe that the performers did their acts with any sincerity and at the same time lay claim to any degree of intelligence. For a mother (Brooke Shields) to look upset over Jackson’s casket was as incredible as watching Natanyahu getting teary eyed over the demise of Mahmoud Ahmadinejad.

Show business, that lactating sow from which all celebrities derive their livelihood has an unwritten rule. Never – ever - talk badly about anyone in the business. No matter what they’ve done. Why? It’s bad for a business that relies on happy thoughts and glamorous images. You'll rarely hear anyone criticize another.

As stars jostled to line up for the promotion memorial in LA, you’ll have noticed some were there for no apparent reason and many were conspicuously absent. ‘What the hell was John Mayer doing there?’ a journalist pal of mine asked a few days ago Mayer was there; I would hazard to guess, because his record company wrangled a spot for him, perhaps bumping Madonna out of a gig because she had pissed someone off once too often.

The event was a record company’s dream – world wide exposure to an audience of millions - that happens way too infrequently for their liking. All those has-beens lamenting the dead gloved one – they didn’t look too happy on stage. Many needed the exposure to remind the public that they were still upright. None of the media outlets speculated that the real reason that the washed-up Liz Taylor was not at the funeral was because it was she who led Jackson up the path of addiction in the first place.

Of concern too is that no sooner had Jackson’s (still absent) brain been pried from his voluntarily-disfigured skull than the rewriting of history of his life began. Absent (or a least not-too-subtly underplayed), were the reminisces of the children sleepovers, the many accusations of child molestation, the payoffs, the reputation of not paying his bills, the mountains of debt, the miming at concerts, the IV drugs use.

I did see a quick tour of his former Neverland ranch on the news. I noted the multiple locks on the inside of Jackson’s bedroom door. Also, the hidden room in his closet with three (count ‘em, three) keyed locks. This ‘safe room’ as one presenter referred to it, was most probably his holy of holies where he kept his stash of…well, we’ll never know for sure.

I was disturbed to see droves of children interviewed on television and radio singing his praises. Did they or their parents miss out on the news of the past 20 years? What the heck was up with the media providing coverage not seen since Princess Diana’s demise? I can’t help but feel that many of the attendees left the memorial feeling a tad soiled, used perhaps, at having been involved in such a blatantly commercial stunt.

Jackson should have been quietly buried in a corner of a grave yard, out of the way somewhere; like Dubai. His family should have walked away in quiet humiliation at the shame that he brought on them and on his children.

He deserved nothing more.
 

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