The Colonel is sinking rapidly into a state of deep depression. Michael Jackson has just assumed room temperature and the entire world, addled by a fawning obsession with celebrity, thinks that is the most important story on the planet. If H comes out with a statement about this drug addicted, pernicious pedophile's passing, I just might submit my secession papers.
For the record, I have never owned any recording, in any medium, of Michael Jackson's (ahem) music. There aren't many (ahem) artists whose estates, record labels, and agents I have so subsidized. In fact, I rarely submit the few remaining cognitive cells lying fallow in the recesses of my bald-pated skull to the mind-numbing assault on my not-so delicate sensibilities that has masqueraded as music for the past five decades; with the exception of the occasional dalliance with Boston or the Eagles--hey, you have your vices, I have mine.
The Colonel's point in this rambling rant is that the superficiality of popular culture and the mindless crush at the rope line of celebrity has reduced our capacity to think critically about what is actually of the most import in our lives and our times. There is a bloody revolution taking place in the name of freedom in Iran, and my bet is there will be more sympathy expressed today by talking heads and pandering politicians regarding the passing of a degenerate so-called king of pop, than will be uttered in support of the freedom fighters in Iran.
Besides, I thought the drug-addicted musician from Memphis was "the king."