THE WEIRD THING is that in death Michael Jackson looked more like Farrah Fawcett than he did himself. He had a Farrah Fawcett nose, a Farraah Fawcett chin, and as close as a black man could have, a Farrah Fawcett complexion.
And wouldn't it be like a Farrah Fawcett wannabe to die the same day she did, stealing her headlines and screen time. I don't know much about Farrah Fawcett except that she was a hot babe who died with more dignity and courage and honor than any honest man has a right to expect from an honorable death.
Michael Jackson was a fruit. Whatever that word means. He was a different genus. Decidiuos or something other than human. Farrah proved herself to be the most decidedly human of babes. A mench. A force of nature. A human beautiful being. A better man than the name that stole her dying moment.
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