MONDO EXTRAS

Do You Believe in Magic?

by Jacob Clifton August 17, 2004
Man in the Mirror: The Michael Jackson Story

In the room full of creepy mannequins, the maid sets off the alarms and then turns it off again, using this huge, awesome remote control the size of a dinner platter. This is the reason I get so excited when the Palm People are all, "Monitor your grandma's dialysis! Scare burglars! All with your Palm Pilot!" So anyway, she walks into the Children's Wing and is grossed out to see Michael Jackson giggling under the bed with her kid. He's all, check out our fort! and she's all check out my resignation and then she gets her kid the hell out of there. Smart lady. The boy is sad, of course, because really Michael is just the weird kid next door that's an only child and his parents are rich as fuck and he gets all the cool toys and a whole room full of He-Man toys, because he's not attuned to the creepier levels which may or may not apply, depending on just how much of a number Joe did on his kids. Michael of course doesn't get it. Michael never gets it. This is going to happen six times a year for the rest of his life and he'll never get it. Michael watches longingly as they leave.

Cut to Bobby telling him that surgery is no place to "drown his sorrows," and we'll talk about the scriptwriter's woeful grasp of the American idiom a bit later, as Michael stares into the mirror. "Wouldn't it be so inspiring if everyone could look at me and see themselves?" What? It would be fucking hilarious, if Michael Jackson looked exactly like me, but not exactly inspiring. It would inspire me to laugh nervously, sure. "I think people would be inspired to look at you and see you." Instead of a freaky-deaky pervert monster. Michael explains that there's a new album coming out, and he needs a new look for the new album. Like Madonna, but with flesh and bones and implants instead of clothes and flavors of sluttiness. "You're the boss," says Bobby. Cut to the OR, where there's the same undefined nurse for some reason. There's only one chick in all of the world that does surgery. "Scalp grafts" or "monster-fying," it's always her. He stares uncomprehendingly, and then she pulls her mask up and does a strange facial bump 'n' grind and winks and he stares up and it's so awesome because he says, dreamingly, "Oh...it's The Eyes!" Like he's saying, "Oh, it's The Smurfs!" or something. Weird. There's stupid singing as he slips into unconsciousness. Life goes very Nip/Tuck on us as the surgery begins, but without the graphic anything, just lots of implements being squeezed and moved around in front of the camera and some vrooming sounds.

Then he's in bandages and people come in to check on him in a never-ending fade-in-fade-out montage of people we might or might not see again. Then, it's later and there are fewer bandages and he wakes up a little, feeling his face all over. Then he's unconscious and there's more fade-in-fade-out and then he wakes up enough to rub his chest. We get it. Bobby comes in and he's all, "I'll be there in a minute." Good time for a commercial, recovery from surgery. Too bad we had to watch it all instead. Next up: the child abuse stuff kicks in for real.

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Do You Believe in Magic?

by Jacob Clifton August 17, 2004
Man in the Mirror: The Michael Jackson Story

In the room full of creepy mannequins, the maid sets off the alarms and then turns it off again, using this huge, awesome remote control the size of a dinner platter. This is the reason I get so excited when the Palm People are all, "Monitor your grandma's dialysis! Scare burglars! All with your Palm Pilot!" So anyway, she walks into the Children's Wing and is grossed out to see Michael Jackson giggling under the bed with her kid. He's all, check out our fort! and she's all check out my resignation and then she gets her kid the hell out of there. Smart lady. The boy is sad, of course, because really Michael is just the weird kid next door that's an only child and his parents are rich as fuck and he gets all the cool toys and a whole room full of He-Man toys, because he's not attuned to the creepier levels which may or may not apply, depending on just how much of a number Joe did on his kids. Michael of course doesn't get it. Michael never gets it. This is going to happen six times a year for the rest of his life and he'll never get it. Michael watches longingly as they leave.

Cut to Bobby telling him that surgery is no place to "drown his sorrows," and we'll talk about the scriptwriter's woeful grasp of the American idiom a bit later, as Michael stares into the mirror. "Wouldn't it be so inspiring if everyone could look at me and see themselves?" What? It would be fucking hilarious, if Michael Jackson looked exactly like me, but not exactly inspiring. It would inspire me to laugh nervously, sure. "I think people would be inspired to look at you and see you." Instead of a freaky-deaky pervert monster. Michael explains that there's a new album coming out, and he needs a new look for the new album. Like Madonna, but with flesh and bones and implants instead of clothes and flavors of sluttiness. "You're the boss," says Bobby. Cut to the OR, where there's the same undefined nurse for some reason. There's only one chick in all of the world that does surgery. "Scalp grafts" or "monster-fying," it's always her. He stares uncomprehendingly, and then she pulls her mask up and does a strange facial bump 'n' grind and winks and he stares up and it's so awesome because he says, dreamingly, "Oh...it's The Eyes!" Like he's saying, "Oh, it's The Smurfs!" or something. Weird. There's stupid singing as he slips into unconsciousness. Life goes very Nip/Tuck on us as the surgery begins, but without the graphic anything, just lots of implements being squeezed and moved around in front of the camera and some vrooming sounds.

Then he's in bandages and people come in to check on him in a never-ending fade-in-fade-out montage of people we might or might not see again. Then, it's later and there are fewer bandages and he wakes up a little, feeling his face all over. Then he's unconscious and there's more fade-in-fade-out and then he wakes up enough to rub his chest. We get it. Bobby comes in and he's all, "I'll be there in a minute." Good time for a commercial, recovery from surgery. Too bad we had to watch it all instead. Next up: the child abuse stuff kicks in for real.

Previous 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26Next

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