Greetings Mouthketeers:

This was a week I really should have been on vacation or in a state where I should not have gotten out of bed. During this week I learned my friend’s dog passed away, learned another friend’s transgendered cousin committed suicide and hung herself, heard an old friend’s elderly dad had fallen, found out a book agent began pitching our clients to media without including us in the negotiation; and this week was the week a bat flew into my home at 5am and fluttered around me in my bedroom while I naked in my bed and screaming…as if I was a woman.

The bat story is worth detailing. It’s not a good feeling when your house alarm goes off at 5am, and it’s even worse to get a call from the alarm’s dispatcher telling you the motion detector in your living room is where the alarm was tripped.

I sleep in the buff (TMI); but imagine contemplating the notion that someone is walking up your stairs ready to murder you; only to learn that the violator is a bat, fluttering around you in your bed, while you are butt naked to the wind. (Thank God I wasn’t sitting naked on the terlet when this creature decided to freak me out.)

This is a true story.

The sounds that came out of me when this bat violated my space was only equal to the sound of a woman giving birth—only there were no stirrups to strap me into. Instead of taking a breath and remembering that bats are harmless little creatures who simply carry diseases; I launched an all out screaming campaign in the hopes this bat will fly back to whatever cave he came from. (Where were my neighbors during all of this? Were they afraid if they called the cops I would have pulled a “Henry Louis Gates” on them??)

So, I called the police. They gave me the name of an animal control service—who unfortunately wasn’t opened 24 hours-a-day. As I screamed down the hall to the guest bedroom, shutting the doors behind me as if the attacker would find me again and try and tussle my hair (did I tell you I’m bald?), I decided to boot up the laptop in the hopes of finding an around-the-clock company who will rescue me and put me and the bat out of our misery.

Jim—who lives in Connecticut—but owns a company called New York Bat Control (or something of that ilk), was kind enough to take my call, and talk me off a ledge of fear.

Two hours after my call, Jim arrived in his company uniform—looking as if he was Kevin Costner in that baseball movie he starred in. Sadly for me, the sun was rising just as Jim’s truck had pulled into the driveway, and if you remember anything about bats, they hide and sleep (upside down) by day, and flutter around by night. Needless to say, after an hour of bat hunting with a pair of rubber gloves and a flashlight, Jim did not find the intruder.

But Jim charged me $400 and the promise that he would meet me at 10pm (for free), and catch the bat when it woke up from its power nap.

Jim kept his promise and showed up, and found me sitting in my car refusing to go into my house. Jim asked me to open the door, which lead into a pitch black living room, and as I peaked through the panes of the old looking colonial window, I could see Jim doing a bat dance with the flashlight—and I could see the bat dancing to the beat of Jim’s song.

Frankly there was no music, but trust me when I say Jim and the bat gyrated to a tune I never heard of at any disco—and sadly the dance ended in about three minutes when Jim grabbed the flying mouse (uh, b-a-t), and broke his neck. (I know, I know, I asked Jim to let the bat go back to the wild but for some odd reason Jim said that the town wants all captured bats killed and tested for Rabies.) So my 15-hour saga with the bat ended on a high note.  (Boy I wish the stories of the dog that died, the woman who committed suicide, the agent who spoke out of turn, and the elderly man who fell would have had a happier ending; but when it comes to capturing bats, Jim is now on the top of my list of vendors I will definitely use in the future!) 

Bat behavior and bad behavior is not tolerated; however there’s gotta be some moral to the story, right?  What I also learned from Jim was that earlier in the morning he saw a coyote slithering in my yard, and reminded me to never let my dog off a leash—or on the deck without supervision because there will be a tragic ending.  I would have never learned about how to protect my dog if it wasn’t for the bat; and although the entire week was chock full of human bats circling me as if I was Dracula, deep down I knew there was going to be a brighter day at the end of this tunnel of sadness, drama and insanity.

Today is my company’s retreat, and I’m firing up the BBQ and grilling some chicken burgers for the staff. If the party is overshadowed by thunderstorms, I will switch gears, book a massage for my employees at the local day spa, and treat everyone to lunch at the state’s most critically-acclaimed smokehouse.

Darkness will eventually turn into light—and all I will need to do is take a breath and look toward the future.

Hey, wasn’t Teri Garr hysterical in “Young Frankenstein”?

Peace.

The Mouthinator.

The Mouthinator Pet, Pop Culture, entertainment

Greetings Mouthketeers:

 

True Story:  A year ago I was on the train from CT to NYC, and by the time I arrived at Grand Central Station, I got in a cab and rushed my butt to an emergency room.  I had a severe case of diahorrea and was dehydrated.  TMI?  Please read on.  As I lay on the gurney in the emergency room, the IV drip loaded with electrolytes, didn’t drip, and unfortunately I didn’t know I was shriveled up like a prune until six hours later–when I was ready to be discharged.  I was charged for the drip that never dropped,  I met a doctor for 30 seconds who asked how I was, walked away, charged me $2,500 for her “care” and to this day I’m still paying the emergency room bill.

 

I am not one of the 46 million people who live without healthcare.  In fact, I’ve offered a plan to my staff for years.  In order to keep monthly premiums down though, I signed up for a plan, which includes a $3,000 deductible and doesn’t cover emergencies.  Did you hear me?

 

Threeeeee   Thousssssssand   Dollllllllar   Deductttttttttible. 

 

I think my case of the runs cost me over $5,000 that day. 

 

You can call it socialism, mechanism, Buddhism, realism . . . Who cares what the label is . . . Whatever you wanna call it:  Call it a National Healthcare Plan, which I strongly feel America needs.  Many of you thought you would forget the fact you worked in a boring job because you believed your benefits were special; however, if you read the fine print . . . you might as well quit your job because you have the same stanky benefits as I do. 

 

We need a plan, and we want Obama to put it in place; because up until this date, no President has done so.  Puhleese people.  Anyone who believes Pussoir Palin and her evil antics, swearing that Obama’s plan is going to allow “Big Brother” to prematurely end grandma’s life is on steroids!  Remember, y’all.  Palin doesn’t read any newspapers so why should we believe she’s read any part of Obama’s healthcare proposal?  Perhaps she bought the plan on tape and is listening to it in the car as she whores herself across America, posing as a Republican?  Didn’t the evil Republican crowd “leave the building and go onto talk radio?”  Palin kills moose, quits her role as governor, isn’t up on the news, is an insult to women, speaks way out of turn and obviously didn’t educate her children about the Alaskan wild geese and the bees. (Remember her unwed teenage pregnant daughter?) 

 

Most likely Palin can afford her healthcare.  This plan won’t be for her.  It’s for all the nice people, the people who work for a living, read this blog and for those who don’t hate.

 

Vote for a choice . . . and this time . . . it’s a choice for a cheaper kind of healthcare with better benefits.

 

Hey did you know in real life Dr. Kildare was gay?

 

 

Peace.

 

The Mouthinator

The Mouthinator Health, Politics

Greetings Mouthketeers:

 

I was going to write about the late and most interesting, Eunice Kennedy Shriver, (was her husband’s first name, Sargent, or was he a sergeant in the war?) …Then I was going to send a shout out to my client, New York Times best-selling author, Mary Jo Buttafuoco, and the success of her book, Getting it Through My Thick Skull … (Wait until you hear who wants to sue her. . .) Then . . . right before blogging this evening I opened up my iPhone and wondered, “How the hell did I get 200 emails from 6:42-11pm, and why do I feel guilty going to bed without answering them?”

 

I’m pissed.  Yes, I’m the one who spent $625 to have an IT person reconnect my iPhone to the Mac to the PC, etc., etc.  But I hate the whole thing.      

 

As Bette Midler said in “The Rose,” “Where is everybody going?”  I truly believe the downfall of our society is Facebook, Twitter, Blackberry and iPhone, because at the end of the day, the act of maneuvering all these electronic devices is sucking the daylights out of us, and if you look back at the content of your tweets, and emails, and wall messages, you might notice that nothing you’ve read or written today is uber interesting and you certainly won’t cure cancer with the content produced in any of your profiles.  Sure, you confirmed a reservation or two via email, “friended” a friend you never liked in the first place on Facebook . . .  but at the end of the day, what does it really have to do with you and your life?    

 

Throw that Blackberry in the garbage and use the iPhone as a flashlight the next time you loose your keys in your knapsack.  That’s right; just use the phone as a flashlight.

 

Seriously, I can see the value in instant messaging when you’re in a hurry, but I don’t understand what is the importance of important issues anymore?  Have you turned into the person who is scrolling up and down your inbox while you’re in an elevator, simply because you’re playing ‘catch up’ with your device?  Should my evening be a big bust simply because the mobileme.com server hasn’t downloaded another 100 more messages in my inbox yet? 

 

Puhleese!  Give me a Princess rotary phone any day, because I want your number to call you and say, hi.  You got that right:  Take a breath, and call. It would be nice to hear your voice.

 

Does anyone remember Ernestine the telephone operator on “Laugh In”?

 

Peace.

 

The Mouthinator. 

The Mouthinator Lifestyle, Pop Culture, Technology

Greetings Mouthketeers:

I nearly upchucked my bagel and lox yesterday when I heard the news that allegedly, Sarah Palin is moving to Hampton Bays, New York, the town where my family has lived since 1986! Fact? According to Dan’s Papers, the local rag of the South Fork (known for forgetting to fact-check), the dummy ex-governor with a big mouth, a lot of kids and not much of any kind of experience, moved in on August 1^st! Is that chick gonna shop at my family’s King Kullen, use the terlet at the local Starbucks and go to the local movie theater? Get me outa here!

Well, it won’t be the first time, Dan’s Papers has (hopefully), made a mistake, but it isn’t the first time fancy-schmancy people have lived in Hampton Bays, the “poor” Hampton—the town where people who work and don’t need to be “seen”—live.

There are six things you need to know about Hampton Bays: One—the Hampton Bays Diner is the worst Greek Diner in America and I wouldn’t even invite Sarah to brunch there; Two—Barbra Streisand rented a house across the street from my mother for a summer; Three—the fabulous reporter and host, Jane Velez-Mitchell, spent her summers there as a kid; Four—a gazillion publishing execs live there too; Five—it’s the town where all of the debris from TWA Flight 800 was collected; and Six—if Sarah Palin moves in town I am going to tell my family to move to Canada!@#$ You got that right, Mouthketeers! That woman is a danger to Long Island because she’s gotta gun, and there are a lot of ducks, rabbits and deer romping around in the woods.

Out of all the hoods in the country, why on Earth is Palin plotzing in my family’s hamlet? Couldn’t she have moved near those corrupted rabbis in New Jersey instead of my sleepy town in Long Island? Unless she’s rehearsing for a summer stock version of “Annie Get Your Gun,” she don’t belong in this neck. Doesn’t she realize there will be Jews and gays and people who read the New York Times living around her corner? Sure, there are most likely a few KKK living down our streets too, but in my book, “Plottin’ Palin” is as mean-spirited as those weirdos in white.

Let’s put this in plain English: Sarah Palin is a quitter. Hampton Bays is a working class town. There is no room for Barbie doll, politics-as-usual, bigoted moose hunters.

Will Rush and Beck move to a manse in Hampton Bays too?

“Tear down that wall . . .” –Ronald Reagan

Peace.

The Mouthinator.

The Mouthinator News, Politics, Pop Culture

Greetings Mouthketeers:

I’m thrilled Kim Weiss and HCI Books hired my firm to rep Mary Jo Buttafuoco and her book, Getting It Through My Thick Skull. In all my years of working in PR, Mary Jo is the only client to be booked on eight morning shows and six free radio satellite tours, totaling over ten hours on the air.

That’s because people genuinely wanna hear from Mary Jo. Audiences wanna hear from a woman who was a victim but has come out of her ordeal—which, incidentally was seventeen years ago—as an advocate for others who might be in the same boat.

For those of you who never heard of Mary Jo Buttafuco, she’s an American icon—a housewife who was painting in her backyard when a sixteen year-old Amy Fisher rang her bell . . . and shot her in the head. All this bloodshed over an auto mechanic named Joey Buttafuoco, Mary Jo’s husband, who denied having an affair with Amy. (Amy was sent to prison for seven years, and Joey was arrested for a few months.)

What kills me about this story (no pun intended), is that some in the media refuse to interview Mary Jo because they think she’s too “tabloid!” (Thank you, Leonard Lopate for interviewing MJB, but what up with that NPR Fresh Air or Diane Rehm??) What these hoity-toity outlets seem to forget is that Mary Jo didn’t asked to be shot, and was never in a love triangle with the Long Island Lolita and Joey. That was a story that was hyped by the very media who disses Mary Jo.

When you hear the interviews with Mary Jo, she’s surprisingly eloquent, very smart and a character of compassion. You want her to win, and you want her to marry her fiancé, and gentle man, Stu Tendler. Even though it’s shocking to most why she stayed with Joey a decade after she was shot, you really get “it” after you hear Mary Jo talk about her life. In this case, love was really blind, but it’s never too late to see the light. Two years ago, Mary Jo had a revelation with her son, who claimed his dad was a sociopath, and after doing exhaustive research, Mary Jo agreed; and this book is her journey—no one else’s—about what it is to live with and what to avoid when you’re living with . . . a crazy.

So for all of you Mouthketeers who are sick and tired of hearing about Michael Jackson, and are really fed up with Henry Louis Gates, Jr.’s crap about his racial incident (did Obama really need to chime in?), pick up Mary Jo’s book and applaud her.

Hey, doesn’t is suck that E. Lynn Harris died?

Peace.

The Mouthinator.

The Mouthinator News, Pop Culture

 

 

Greetings Mouthketeers:

 

I’ve heard the news about the topic of this blog four times on different news outlets yesterday, and I don’t know about you, but by the third time the reporter told the story, I nearly fell asleep with boredom.

 

Apparently Henry Louis Gates, Jr., a Harvard professor, was arrested for disorderly conduct in his home.  Gates was returning from a trip to China and noticed some damage to his door.  Just as Gates and his driver were trying to push the door open, it seems as if a neighbor thought the house was being robbed, called the cops, and then after some heated exchange of words, Gates was arrested for disorderly conduct.  And then the case was dropped. 

 

Jeez.  Can someone give Gates a Xanax, and have him calm down?  I’m no expert and I certainly was not at the “crime scene,” but I can tell you this story happened to me . . . twice—except I didn’t lose my temper and provoke the cop, and then did not ask the Jewish maffia to pull out the anti-Semitic card. 

 

I was locked out of my house.  I set off the alarms.  I had the cops come.  I had them ask me for my license.  They checked me out.  They looked scary too.  (I looked like a bum.)  But honestly, if you step back and stop for a moment, instead of freaking out because someone is questioning you, Gates, THANK the frickin officer for looking out for your home, and realize these guys were making sure you lived there.  Why on Earth would cops create an unnecessary scene in Cambridge for God’s sake?  Cops are no angels at times, and we’ve all seen the horrific incidents caught on tape, but this ain’t one of them, trust me. 

 

Protection isn’t always a race issue, and I will be the first to tell you my Black friends are treated poorly at times.  But get this.  So am I.  I’m chunky, gay, I have a big mouth, and my patience runs thin.  And put those traits in a blender and press the “crush” button . . . and you get “volatility.”

 

The problem here is that when cops hear the alarms, etc., they are charged up, ready for the worse case scenario.  They have to put their guard up because who knows who is going to pop out on scene?  The other problem here is we are all charged up too—because we are victims of hype, TV, tabloid news and just plain gossip and misinformation.  We are all eating way too much sugar and listening to way too many reports on killing, kidnapping and Michael Jackson breaking news to remember how to think clearly in stressful times.  We all know Gates traveled a gazillion miles on a plane and was tired and irritable.  How do you spell, “b-u-r-n-e-d out and r-e-a-d-y for bed??” 

 

Again, I feel for the Professor, but I don’t wanna hear another word about this story.  Please Gates, enjoy the rest of your summer and move onward and upward.

 

Did I tell you I was neighbors with Cicely Tyson and Miles Davis?  He used to leave his empty beer cans stacked up by the incinerator.  Whatever.

 

Peace.

 

The Mouthinator. 

The Mouthinator News

 

Greetings Mouthketeers:

 

Since you last read one of my entries, news guru Walter Cronkite, and Angela’s Ashes author Frank McCourt passed away . . . but what do I blog about?  The fact Paula Abdul has not been invited onto the next season of American Idol to date, according to her manager, David Sonenberg.

 

You got that right.  Says the manager, “Very sadly, it does not appear that she’s going to be back on ‘Idol . . . and she’s not a happy camper . . . “

 

Ya know, I’m not a very happy camper at the moment either.  With a cholesterol level at 280 and a doctor who is practically feeding me Lipitor through an intravenous tube, do I have more fish to fry than the fishy drama surrounding the Big Ab?

 

Paula Abdul not judging a group of amateurs?  Yawn.  Who Cares?  Go Home.  See ya.   

 

Ryan Secrest, the “host” of the show, apparently signed a 45 Million Dollar deal, and when he heard the Abdul might be abducted from AI, tweeted to her to show his support.  Says RS, “Love u PA can’t imagine doing idol without u!!”

 

Ryan, what tremendous insight you have, and it’s clear how you command the big bucks; however, the last time I checked, a “PA” didn’t stand for Paula Abdul, which furthers my conviction Ryan Secrest is truly a gay man stuffed inside the likes of a game show host.

 

What really irks me here is at the time of this writing, those facacta Bush twins are overloading the google.com/trends list—clogging up the Top 25 most blogged about people in the universe! 

 

What Google trend ranking is PA at the time of this writing?  Nowhere to be seen and if she is, her story is way beyond the top 100. 

 

My point is that celebs who judge talent, managers who manage them and news outlets such as CNN should really stop reading their own publicity and start reporting on something meaningful for us all . . . thus trying to make a difference in the world.  Perhaps CNN will create a new Heroes award for celebs who make a difference?

 

Straight up, now tell me:  Will Paula Abdul make that list? 

 

Where is the Farrah Fawcett coverage when you really need it?

 

Peace.

 

The Mouthinator. 

The Mouthinator entertainment

 

 

Greetings Mouthketeers:

 

I’m sure you’ve heard and/or seen some of the coverage on the Supreme Court confirmation hearings of Judge Sonia Sotomayor?  It just kills me that the news over the division between the Democrats and Republicans, and how each party grills the Judge, continue to overshadow the actual hearings to determine whether or not this woman should be voted as the next Supreme Court Justice.

 

This rant is not about whether the Judge is qualified; rather, this rant brings forth the reason why the political system—as seen through the eyes of the media—must stop once and for all.

 

Why?

 

We are about to elect a person who will have important power, and perhaps Judge Sotomayor is the right person for the job; however, will the politicians and the media stop this crap already and ask the necessary questions to see if she’s kewl enuf for the job rather than speak in a code and beat around the bush?

 

Bush?  Familiar.  Hmmmm. 

 

Let’s quickly change course here. 

 

Why on Earth is Rush Limbaugh and Sarah Palin known as the poster boy and grrrrl of the Republican Party?  I voted for Regan once and Bush Senior once; however, I proudly voted for Obama.  I would neeeeeveeeer vote for Limbaugh or Palin, the two Bobbsey babes.  I vote for whom I feel will do the right job at the right time.  You got that right!

 

The media is stirring up such agita over Pal-Li, who—in case you didn’t know—aren’t doing diddley squat in the political arena except listen to themselves speak and talk about how they’re fighting against the liberal media.  Boring, boring.  Yawn, yawn.  I hear a new AM station with Palin as host coming on!

 

Let’s change course again. 

 

We will only be a better country when we toss the media ‘tude aside and simply vote for people on what they stand for and not which side of the aisle they sit on.  I don’t want to pussyfoot around the subject of politics any longer, do you?  If I wanna ask the Judge her views on abortion, I want to ask the question in plain English.  Will I ask the question in French if I’m a Democrat and ask the question in German if I’m Republican?  It’s all Greek to me. 

 

If Obama continues to do a so-much-better job than his predecessor (Am I having a senior moment?  I can’t remember who was the president before Obama??), and does a great job after his first term, I’ll vote for Obama again.  However, if he starts to believe his own publicity, I’ll vote for someone else and it might not be Hillary Clinton, if you get my drift.

 

Media, shaddup already and get back to what you really do best—and that is to keep beating a story such as the death of Michael Jackson—to an even deeper death than it already is.

 

Wasn’t Al Franken a funny comedian?

 

Peace.

 

The Mouthinator. 

 

The Mouthinator Politics

Greetings Mouthketeers:

 

This morning’s blog entry is a rant.

 

I don’t know about you, but I’m absolutely pissed this country cannot get it together when it comes to offering people affordable healthcare.  Many work their asses off and they still can’t afford the hundreds of dollars a month to protect themselves and their families. If that’s the case why are we all working so hard?  If we don’t have the means to take care of ourselves in times of peril, what are we doing with our money, and why isn’t healthcare more affordable so that it’s not sucking our tills dry?

 

In my opinion, healthcare should be free.  The subject should not be drawn out in government—year-after-year.   We are living in 2009 already, friends.  We should not be wondering if we faint on the street whether or not we will end up strapped onto a gurney in the hallways of some stank hospital with a dirty bathroom, right?  

 

I’ve gone to some gyms that were a hell of a lot cleaner than some of the hospitals I have visited.  If a gym can offer perks (towels, massages, trainers) with a membership, a country can offer healthcare with a US birth certificate.  It should be a perk for being a United States citizen.  

 

When someone is in pain, they should be treated as if they are kings and queens, not as if they’re Louise Fletcher’s patients in “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.”  Every doctor should take a course in compassion.   Some Veterinarians are nicer to animals than some doctors are to their patients.  What’s up with that?

 

It is absolutely disgraceful that a nursing home charges thousands of dollars a day for care—putting decent people in debt, kidnapping their assets simply to pay outrageous costs to people who don’t want to work there anyway.  There should be no such thing as “long term health insurance.”  We should always have care—whether we break our legs or have colon cancer—we should always have the care we need.   There should be no such thing as reading small print in an insurance policy. If you go to the grocery store and can buy a bag a groceries for face value than you can buy a health insurance policy. Buying a simple plan insurance policy should be as simple as buying milk, eggs and cheese down at the neighborhood deli.  

 

If the government can give billions of dollars to companies who build ugly cars, for God’s sake they can print some more dough for health insurance.  And while they’re at it, any doctor who shows a bit of attitude or dismisses patients as if they are pieces of meat at a supermarket should be fired.  And that also goes for doctors who prescribe drugs to people knowing that these medications will kill them.  All I can say here is . . . Michael Jackson.   Shamon already.  Fire the butts off of these dudes, throw them in jail and take away there medical licenses.

 

Here’s how we will all get free healthcare.  Give big companies a juicy tax break for subsidizing healthcare programs.  Forget the potholes in the street.  We might get a few hemorrhoids bouncing over a hole or two on the highway, but we’ll live.    Pull some tax money that might go to fixing the roads and transfer it to medicine and care.   Towns should cancel their budgets for fireworks displays on the 4^th of July, in favor of using those funds for community healthcare programs.  Forget the parades—put it in the kitty for healthcare.  Forget the girl scout cookie sales—put the money in the kitty for healthcare.Forget giving to the museum—put the money in the kitty for healthcare.

 

Obviously I’m not that stupid to realize this is a complicated subject.  But it’s time to fix the healthcare system so we can seriously focus on the environment.

 

Is “General Hospital” still on TV?  Stay well.

 

Peace.

 

The Mouthinator

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Mouthinator Health, News, Politics

 

Greetings Mouthketeers:

 

Yesterday I was glued to the computer as if it was my flat screen at home—watching the Michael Jackson Memorial.

 

And then it hit me:  There were two Michael Jacksons. 

 

One was the performer who really changed the face of pop music in his day, and the other was the man living in the dark and sleeping with little boys.

 

Yesterday was the celebration of the pop side—the one persona Michael Jackson so brilliantly created.  Call yourself the King of Pop or the Man in the Mirror—who are we to stop you?  Even though you basically imitated Brown, Ella, Sinatra, Astaire to name a few, you actually did a great job at it.  If you look closely at your music videos, you recycled the same dance moves over and over again, but I do believe before you turned into a weirdo, Michael Jackson, you indeed did change the world through the universal language of music. 

 

And then, during the Memorial, they wheeled in Michael Jackson’s casket.

 

Out of the blue a fan of this blog emailed me her disgust that Jackson’s casket was wheeled into the Staples Center.  But I didn’t think it was disgusting. Other than stealing, killing and child molesting, I don’t think it’s our place to judge what other people do with their lives or their deaths, and how they choose to party, even if the party is going to be their last.

 

If a pregnant woman’s water breaks in a cab, she’d have the baby in the back seat.  If you and your fiancé are extreme sports fanatics, you might say your vows while jumping out of a plane.  If you have millions of fans, you should have your memorial in a center, and if you have a gazillion dollars, for God’s sake buy a honkin’ gold casket with three speeds and parade it around—up and down the isles if you want.  Go for it.  If I recall, years ago we all watched while some head of state of India was cremated on-camera, and to me, that was creepy.  After that scene, what’s wrong with a casket being paraded around on a gurney?  

 

I had the pleasure of meeting Brooke Shields twice, and the pleasure of representing Reverend Berneice King once—both of whom spoke at Michael’s Memorial Service.  They swore by Michael, and his genuine love for children and humanity.  And I believe he truly cared about youngsters; however, I don’t know what Brooke or Berneice do behind closed doors, and I don’t pretend to know what Michael did behind them either.   Now that Michael Jackson has passed, the judgment stops at the gates of heaven because there’s one spirit he will have to answer to, and realistically it is not his fans or his skeptics who tuned in to say goodbye.

 

Hey, what’s up with Joe Jackson chomping on some stanky piece of gum during his son’s memorial service?  Spit it out, Joe—you selfish, rude and disgusting man; and please do not stick it under the seat when you leave the building.   

 

Peace.

 

The Mouthinator.    

 

 

 

 

The Mouthinator entertainment