One occasionally discovers oddities during jewel-robbery class.
“We specialize in creating diamonds from locks of hair. Our plan is to give people an opportunity to own a diamond made from Michael Jackson’s DNA,” said Dean VandenBiesen founder of LifeGem. “We are currently evaluating Jackson's hair sample to determine how many diamonds can be created. This will be a limited collection and we anticipate great interest.”
For a few bob, you can have his Rock With You at all times (sorry).
4 comments:
Thank god you said they were getting his DNA from his hair...
They've have to use his pubic hair then, cos his head-hair got burnt off courtesy of Pepsi.
The flowing locks seen in subsequent photo-opportunities was a wig.
You know Dick; sometimes we aren’t as respectful as we might be about Michael Jackson. Well, here is my heartfelt tribute.
It was some time ago when I attended one of his concerts, and I was one of the lucky ones to meet him back stage. After a wait of only a few minutes, one of his bodyguards with a baldhead the size and shape of a baby elephant, but with much less brainpower, motioned me to come into Michael’s dressing room. Irritatingly, mystic twathead and three quarters Uri Geller was there, and I asked if he could disappear outside and bend a few spoons – Michael agreed and ushered Uri outside.
After closing the door Michael embraced me with a gloriously full body fondle whilst discreetly groping me, which I didn’t mind, because I was sure this wasn’t sexual – although my parents thought it was. We did a slow but meaningful waltz around his dressing room, before he motioned me to sit on his lap, where he talked at length to me about undressing and doing adult things.
On leaving Michael asked me for £2,000 in return for a special gift that he would send once I returned home.
Some weeks later a little box was delivered through the post. On the outside of the box was a message, which read; ‘From One Friend To Another’ signed Michael. I was ecstatic. I rang my girlfriend who was also a Jackson fan. She burst into my home yelling “Where is it, where is it!”
I unwrapped the tinfoil from the gift…and there it was…Michael’s big right toe mounted on a stick!
She began laughing hysterically, saying it was only a pickled onion on a cocktail stick. I told her to get out of my house and never return. I was sickened by this…I threw myself on to the sofa and wept bitterly for over two hours – how could Michael do this.
What I thought was a lovely part of Michael, was nothing more than a pickled onion on a cocktail stick!
And a £2000 pickled fucking onion at that!
YOU BASTARD!!
What Chris? You too..?
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