If the world lost anything when Michael Jackson died, it was its sense of humor.
I can hear you now: “How dare he! Just who does he think he is?! A big jerk, that’s who I think he is! Logan Lee? Sounds like a jerk name to me, the lame jerky jerk pants!”
Are you done? Good. Because, truth be told, you know I’m right. I had friends who were cracking Michael Jackson jokes with the best of them one day, then praising him for everything short of inventing Eggies the next. How did this guy go from being that weird, used-to-be-black-but-I-swear-I-just-turned-this-shade-of-white-pedaphile one day, to being somebody that never did any wrong the next? Listen, I’m all for remembering Jackson fondly, but let’s not forget that he was fucking crazy.
Which is why I’m kicking off my official remembrance of Whitney (or as I like to call it: “RIP Whitney Houston: Memories of a Fucking Crazy Broad”), with the one thing that I thought of as soon as I heard about her untimely death.
Goodbye, Whitney. May you live on forever in the YouTube clips of our hearts.