My Trip to Michael Jackson’s Viewing, Pt. 1

2 Jul

Everyone. I have terrible news– terrible news that I have lightly garnished with good news and baked for roughly two hours. Michael Jackson, the King of Pop, is dead. (should that of been capitalized?) [Editor’s Note: Since you were using King of Pop as a proper title to rename a proper noun, it’s perfectly acceptable.] {Kyle’s Note: BORING. Fart noise*} [Editor’s Note: Why do you treat me like this?]

I found out Michael was dead while I was driving to Waxahachie, TX. I had to immediately pull over and take off one of my driving gloves in memory of my fallen comrade. I also had to put on my sequin cod-piece. I kept driving, but it was hard for me (I had recently removed one of my driving gloves and put on a cod piece.). How do I go on living? What do I do? Where do I go? For a while it felt as if I had no direction in my life. Then, I heard some miraculous news– the Jackson family was holding an open viewing of Michael’s body at his famed Neverland Ranch on July 3. I have to be there. I need closure. I need an excuse to wear my cod-piece in public. I’m also banking on an outside shot of me slapping Al Sharpton.

Neverland Ranch is located in beautiful Santa Ynez, California. I feel very at home in California, having watched The Doors upwards of 10 times in the past two years. I get off the plane and, to fit in with all the California hipster elite, immediately take my shirt off. This is what Jim did, this is what I do. I am the Lizard King. I can do anything.

A big guy with a mean, stinky face makes me put my shirt on while he points his fist at my head.

I rent a car and head to my hotel room to drop off my things. I wave at everyone on my way up the front steps. I’m really big in California. A local sitting in the lobby recognizes me from the internet. I think I see him glance at me from behind his magazine. I decide that I’ll go over and give him a big treat from a real life celebrity.

I walk up to the reading area and stand roughly three feet from the chair he’s sitting in. I lean over his shoulder without him noticing and say in my best internet voice (breathy whisper) “Welcome back.”

The man leaps to his feet and lets out a muted yelp. He throws his newspaper at me in a frenzy. He’s so excited!

“What are you doin’ man?!” he asks.

“Not much. What’re you doin’?” I ask. I had seen him reading, so I kind of know what he’s doing already, but people like it when you take a vested interest in their lives.

“I’m minding my own business, freak. Why’d you sneak up on me like that?”

“I thought I’d sign your newspaper. Do you have a pen?” He starts to tell me that he did not, in fact, have a pen, when I interrupted him. I had a pen, but people like it when you give them a chance to help, to have efficacy.

“I have one. Stop. I have one.” I remove a large, white quill from the front of my pants. “Have you a well of ink?”

“You’re an ass hole.” He leaves me. I did not follow him. People like it when you give them space.

I pick up my bags and make my way to the elevator. Once I reach my floor, I find my room and put my bags on the bed. My things securely settled, I wait on my bed for all the hilarity to start. From what I’ve drawn from popular cinema, there’s always funny stuff happening in hotels. I’m not sure what I’ll see first, a monkey going down the hall in a baggage cart that’s being propelled by an active fire extinguisher or a couple of little ne’er do wells running from hotel security. While laying in wait, I fall asleep and have fantastic dreams. Upon awakening, the hotel is just as quiet and just as boring and stupid as ever. Boring, stupid hotel. *Pouts.

@California Your hotels are stupid. About 2 hours ago from the web

I can’t wait for the viewing. I’m going to go out and enjoy some celebrity-fueled California night life before the showing tomorrow. I need to think up something profound and witty to say as I walk by his pallid, somehow richer-than-me-even-in-death corpse. For now though, I’m going to hob nob and enjoy the lovely state of California. I’ll get back to you soon.

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3 Responses to “My Trip to Michael Jackson’s Viewing, Pt. 1”

  1. Katie L. McCann July 2, 2009 at 1:25 am #

    i’m in the next room. come over.

  2. Ben Raby July 7, 2009 at 4:06 pm #

    Wow Kyle. That sure was a funny story. I especially like the part about when you said Michael Jackson had died. Surely if he had really died some news person somewhere would have informed us by now. Oh you fiction writers!!

Trackbacks/Pingbacks

  1. Meet the Editor. « Eat This, Internet. - August 19, 2009

    […] fairly close to John Mayer and Shaq. John was at my apartment last weekend. I met John Legend at Michael Jackson’s viewing and we still exchange phone calls fairly […]

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