Step right up gossip-lovers, here comes the latest in the I’m-the-Real-Dad Michael Jackson saga!
This time it’s Mark Lester (who?) claiming paternity.
If all those scumbags claiming paternity were truth-telling, those kids would have more bio-dads than Octomom's little money-makers.
The former child-star of filmdom’s “Oliver” is the latest to try and hitch his faded star to Jackson’s kids. Shameless in comparing his blonde girls to Paris (they all have blue eyes and noses), Lester wants in on this publicity-generating scam by claiming sperm-donation-visitation rights. Ugh.
Maybe he thinks it’ll attract more acupuncture business, since his acting “career” crashed and burned after making that depressing movie about exploited children.
Anyone smell any irony here?
Exploited children, in search of family and a real childhood forced into slave-thuggery by a devious father-figure. Sound familiar?
Mark Lester: Your 15 minutes were up 40 years ago. I guess it makes sense to now exploit your kids in the noble cause of truth-telling.
Yet here we are still, reading (and writing) about Jackson’s wretched man/boy’s disturbed life. What’s wrong with us? Why does this hellacious story repulse and attract simultaneously?
Are we fascinated by our generation’s Elephant Man because it feeds our bottomless addiction to feeling superior to rich and famous wack-jobs?
His nose(s). His drugs. His crazy family. We can’t get enough. We’re junkies for this excrement while pretending we’re morally superior.
But secretly, we want more, just like Oliver. More salacious details! More secret sex fables! Come on, Larry King, don’t disappoint us with real news, we want the scandals! Hair-on-fire videos!
Worth more in death, Jackson’s cadaver never looked so good to the vultures preying on his disfigured, grotesque bones.
Whatever happened to decency and public outrage? Can’t we all stop ourselves from participating in this rotten Greek tragedy?
Let’s all just say “No More,” and get on with our own boring lives.
Like that’ll ever happen.