Surprisingly enough the Jackson family asked me — of all people — to deliver the final eulogy for Jacko tomorrow at the Staples Center in LA. So now I’ll give you all an advance reading before catching the red eye to LA LA land. Won’t they be surprised when they hear this one!
MY EULOGY TO WACKO JACKO:
Michael, you were once a pretty good singer and dancer, I’ll grant you that. I dug the moonwalk and a few of those slap-your-happy-shanks disco tunes. I also know you were fond of kiddie stuff and monkeys. Too bad you were also a child-molesting pedophile, a flaming faggot who hated being born Negro (of which I can hardly blame you). Face the facts, you were a freak of nature just like the Elephant Man, who you appropriately loved so much.
I wish I could say more, but I really don’t know all that much about you other than what I just wrote. I’m kind of proud of the fact. I also know that I never spent one lousy dime on your music, or on any People magazine fluff crap; so I’m sure as hell not spending 1.5 seconds of my life doing a google search on anything else about you. Oh yeah, I remember when you were a “cute-as-a-button” little chimp in the Jackson Five sporting a real Negro nose.
I could have cared friggin’ less when you took that Demarol shot and spazed-out stone cold dead. You probably flipped around all over the floor looking like carp out of water for awhile, shaking uncontrollably before your drug-weakened heart went KAPUT. I might even pay good money to see that one on video. Nah.
Farrah Fawcett had more decency and class in her left big toe than you ever did. To give you a send-off like you were some kind of king, as we see here today, is one of the most ridiculous events in American history. And that’s saying a lot.
I know that’s a hellava mean thing to say, but anyone who takes indecent liberties with innocent children SUCKS to begin with. Of course, since you were a big-time Negro Entertainer, all the braindead legions will still love you no matter how sick a puppy you were. But these kind of people generally have cottage cheese for brains.
The one thing I’ve heard about the whole affair that brightened my day (besides your demise of course), is that some of your crazed fans committed suicide because of your sudden death. Do they get any nuttier?
About the most I’ve ever done, when it came to you, was writing this eulogy. In fact, I can’t believe I’ve even written this much, so far. But I made sure that your slimey Jew lawyers (who ripped you off left and right) paid me big buckage in advance before going along with all this (you think I’d be so stupid not to?).
Oh yeah, to all those people who think that his nose, face, hair and skin were all natural, that he never molested anyone and that his children were half his because they used his sperm in the artificial insemination process (my sister-in-law thinks so), then I got this to say: You need to keep your big fat mouth shut, because you are obviously dumber than an iron wedge and saying any of that tells the world as much.
I mean, please, morons.
But when you think about it, it was pretty good that you didn’t contribute any of your funky Negro DNA to those kids. That was THE nicest thing you could have ever done for them. Let’s just hope your Dad and all the thousands of Jew lawyers don’t get their stinking hands on what’s left of the money coming their way.
Maybe we’ll get lucky and the kids will grow a brain and end-up contributing a lot of your money to the KKK. That would be hilarious.
And your Negro family and that entertainment company who owns what’s left of you, had damn sure better pay the city’s and state’s expenses for all this funeral crap or we’re going to dig you up and sell off bits and pieces of your skinny, rotting corpse to your braindead fans till the bill gets paid. Got it?
Us taxpayers out here, who are normal, level-headed and cared less about you, naturally will not like to see their tax dollars go to some unnatural freak’s funeral, no matter how many nut-jobs loved you. Especially considering that Commiefornia is now going hell-in-a-hand basket broke, in the hole for billions upon billions because of your fellow worthless welfare Negroes, non-stop Homo crap and illegal, system-sucking Mestizos.
And to that bulbous-eyed Reverend Al Sharpton sitting out there in the audience — yeah, I see your fat face — I got this one thing to say: You got some nerve showing your ugly mug in public after accusing those White kids of rape at Duke university in North Carolina. In fact, I’m so sick of your sorry Negroness that once I finish here, I’m coming down and doing exactly what most of White America wants to do to you, all up and down the aisle. Get ready Entertainment Tonight camera crew, it won’t be pretty.
What I really hope and pray fervently for, is not that you rest in peace Michael, because I know you’re probably already the concubine (a subtle White word for “Bitch”) and sexual plaything for some kind of incredibly hellish-looking demon in the Underworld. What I really hope for is that the TV and media finally shuts the hell up about you for a long, long time. I’m so totally sick of Michael Jackson this, Michael Jackson that.
Our country is in debt to the tune of trillions; we have record breaking unemployment, our soldiers are still coming home in body bags, the totally screwed-up politicians are trying to jam cap and trade, health care and “thought crime” legislation down our throats. With all this going on, the media chooses to spend all this time talking about some kiddie-diddling, totally basket-case entertainer?
I guess the Jews really do own the GD media!
I’m certain I’m not the only one who’s sick and tired of listening to all the Michael Jackson crap. You’re dead, it’s time to STFU about it!
But I know that won’t happen. Our country is so sick in the head and topsey-turvey that they will now turn you into latter-day Christ figure, which is so stomach-churning that it’s time for me to stop, get off this podium and walk down to your family sitting there in the front row and vomit uncontrollably all over their fat, money-grubbing laps.
Afterwards, I’ll go over and see just how comfortable his toady highness, the Reverend Al Sharpton, finds his seat with that fat ass of his.
So, Michael, my black Fedora is off to you! But you really should’ve croaked way back in the early nineties, before all your legal troubles with kiddies and their blackmailing Jew daddies and lawyers. Maybe we might remember you better.
And I know you’ll enjoy your eternal tête-à-tête with that hell demon, Beezledick or whatever his name is, chained-up in that fetid stone crypt deep in the bowels of hell, with those not-so-cute flying monkeys from the Wizard of Oz guarding your skinny, bleached-white butt soul.
Thank you Michael Jackson fans and family for having me here today, and goodbye LA LA land! And I’m definitely not stopping by South Central or the Simon Wiesenthal HoloHoax center on my way out. I’m sure you’ll understand.
— INCOG MAN