Live from Neverland Valley Ranch.

JUST KIDDING. Totally not at Neverland. Thought about it. But, you know, gas prices and all. They're having a public viewing of Michael Jackson's body at Neverland on Friday.

Um. Shit. That is just disturbing. WHAT A CLUSTERFUCK. Not gonna lie, I'd totally go. But I'd never recover. I don't want to see a DEAD Michael Jackson. Really? Really, people? I don't even like to see dead animals on the side of the road.


Also, I've slowly allowed myself to turn off the television and stop watching the coverage of his death. It gives me high blood pressure, swear to god. How am I supposed to believe he's on a tropical island having beers with Tupac, Notorious B.I.G. and Elvis if I'm constantly watching his body reeled out of a helicopter and into the coroner's van?


So, that's that.

I haven't blogged in some days, I see. Sorry? I'd be lying if I said I had anything interesting to say. I begin full-time employment on Monday.



It's like sealing the coffin on dreams of a further journalism career. Oh, hi. Want to know the best way to utilize a journalism degree? WORK IN THE INSURANCE INDUSTRY. I'm audibly whimpering. Until I get a paycheck, of course.

God, I love money.

In other news, remember how it was 408 degrees outside last week? Well, it's 65 today. I kind of love it, but I might be the only one. I'm curled up in sweatpants and a sweatshirt. IN JULY. My kind of July.

That's all I've got, you guys. I don't know when I got so boring. Apparently Michael Jackson took my creativity with him to the grave.

Damn you, Michael. Damn you.