People die everyday. Babies are born everyday.  Life leaves and life enters this world on a daily basis.  When someone dies in New York City, Chicago, LA, Boston, etc., not many people notice aside from the family members and loved ones of the deceased – unless of course the deceased is a high profile person.  But when someone dies in Maple Corner, Calais, Vermont (population of under 100 people, in my estimation) everyone notices.

The corpse of the icon is still warm and his death was somehow broken to the public by a hugely-popular blog that most folks don’t admit to reading and I’m guessing the Twitterati are in full-flow now and oh fuck it’s all over Facebook and some hate and some love and some RIP’s and some Likes! and so what if UrifuckingGeller is on the TV in the UK all day now forever.

Yes. Michael Jackson has died. He is dead.

I am not the commonplace inquisitor you thought was coming.

They told you they would send the Tall One. They have no belief system. This is why they sent me.

I sense some hostility towards me and that is okay. I am alright with that.

Over the recent winter break, I had occasion to re-watch one of my favorite Japanese movies, Summer Vacation 1999. Wracked with anxieties about achievement, maturity, and mortality that always seem to descend as one attempts to represent the life one has led during the last year to one’s extended family, I found myself enchanted once more by the movie’s peculiar, self-contained universe founded on carefully suspended temporality and an airless yearning that seems to replace the very air the characters breath within the film’s gauzy, stylized frames.

Kittens are feeling left out with news that failed and bitter old man John McCain has decided to push forward legislation relating to the amount that felines can hold in their personal bank accounts.

“Fluffbucket”, spokeskitten for the Pro Cat Investment Board (PCIB), told our reporter that the doddering old senator from Arizona that he could “Go fuck himself and the dog he rode in on”, after yesterday’s riots in Central Florida which resulted in 12 fatalities and yet another attempt by government to crack down on the funding sources of “Al-Kitteda”.

“This old prick is so in the pockets of Big-Dog that anything he says on this subject has to be met with a hiss, maybe pee in his stinky old-man slippers when he’s not looking, that kind of thing. We’ve got nothing to do with Al-Kitteda, no matter what Drudge says. Until he backs down, there will be no more playing with balls of wool” said Fluffbucket at a packed and surprisingly fishy press conference this morning.

A dog was unavailable to comment.