On the Tragic Death of Michael Jackson

Michael Jackson is still dead, and the story mandates continuing news coverage of this fact. His original death was not personally noteworthy to bother waking the wife up for. It seems his death involves an ongoing deadness, which the media will keep us up to the minute, about.
To quote the Coroner to the Stars:

As Coroner, I must aver
I thoroughly examined him.
And he's not only merely dead,
He's really, most sincerely dead.

We await a second opinion regarding the question posed from the family, if Michael:

Is morally, ethic'ly
Spiritually, physically
Positively, absolutely
Undeniably and reliably
Dead!

This news can only be a boon to Terry Sanford, although it ruins the celebrity rating of Unnamed Argentine Girlfriend down below the talk-circuit cutoff.

Eugene Robinson wrote a brief and credible epitaph for this fellow, which I found enlightening. I have never been a follower of Mr. Jackson, nor the other members of the now-Jackson-Four, nor have I been struck Medusa-like with the projected image of a sibling's nipple.

America, though, should see the horrible countenance of the pre-dead Michael Jackson as but a mirror into our own being. Michael only wanted to become what we asked him to, Tourettes-like, without the ability to control his own expression. That hideous Roswell alien that he became is only ourselves, mirrored in his own existence.

He was broadly hated as a child-abuser; but what then are we?