This just in: Michael Jackson is dead. He’s been dead for more than a week. And guess what? He’s still dead.
Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead as a door knob. Dead like disco.
I’ve wanted to yell this breaking news at my boss every day for the past week.
But my boss is a judge and, apparently, a huge Michael Jackson fan who refuses to let him rest in peace.
This fact did not come up in the interview when I applied for the clerkship. When he shook my hand, I don’t think I saw a sequined glove. He didn’t excused himself after the interview by moonwalking out of the room or saying, “It was nice to meeting you, Dirty Diana.” And at no time in this clerkship has he told me to “beat it” or “shamon.”
But since MJ left this mortal Earth, it seems his best work will soon join him because the judge has been playing the pop king’s music to death.
Twice I felt like I almost had to stop my judge from quoting MJ in a ruling.
Three times it felt as if he was about to gyrate and grab his crotch while wearing his robe.
Once, His Honor asked if it would be too much to set his ringtone to Thriller. I panicked and relented from actually saying it would indeed be too much and begged the insanity to end.
I’ve caught him humming Bad. He has researched authentic Jackson memorabilia on eBay. And yesterday [Thursday, July 2] at lunch, he referred to one of the defendants on trial before him as a “smooth criminal.” Then he repeated that awful, dreadful, horrible line again and again until we laughed, pretending that it had taken us a few minutes to catch the reference.
Good one, your honor!
Is there an end in sight? Doesn’t look like it. The news is non-stop Michael all the time. CNN is actually playing his songs like they’re a Top-40 station. And there’s all this talk of what really killed him and the possibility of a nasty estate squabble. I could care less, but my judge will surely be glued to this stuff for as long as it keeps going.
Normally, I would think an old guy obsessed with pop music is too hilarious for words, but at this point, his unexpected infatuation has become totally expected, and it’s draining. Mainly because it requires me to pretend like he’s darling and witty all day since he now relies on me being amused. He even waits and looks for me to deliver a fawning, fully entertained reaction. And how can I really not play along???
He thinks it makes him adorable. But I wish he would stop pressuring me because it makes me want to scream.
Wait, that’s actually the one song I haven’t heard him sing yet.