Jamie

Weinstein

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July 14, 2009

Jacko’s Last Will and Testament . . . Really

On June 25, Michael Jackson, the world’s greatest entertainer, died in Beverly Hills, California. His talent was only matched by the bizarre life he led. Days after his death, a will from 2002 emerged that was believed to be the King of Pop’s final testament on what he would like to have done with his estate and who he would like to take care of his children. The will stated, among other things, that his mother Katherine Jackson should assume guardianship of his children in the event of his death – and if she was unable to do so, then the singer Diana Ross should assume that responsibility.

After conducting my own investigation, I have discovered another will written by MJ, a will that is newer and thus supersedes the 2002 will. What follows are some extracts from the will:

The Last Will and Testament of His Royal Highness of Pop, Michael Jackson

Memorial Service and Burial

My memorial service should be an extravaganza unparalleled in human history. Here are some important details: 

1)       It wouldn’t be a proper memorial if Reverend Al Sharpton didn’t speak.

2)       I should be placed in a gold coffin. If I am placed in a coffin made out of anything other than solid gold, I will not rest in peace.

3)       I haven’t spoken to Brooke Shields in over a decade, but clearly she should speak at my memorial as if we were best friends. Because, you know, good friends don’t talk to each other for decades at a time.

4)       If my memorial doesn’t irreversibly bankrupt the City of Los Angeles, it wasn’t grand enough

5)       Obviously, Texan Congresswoman Sheila Jackson Lee must speak at my memorial. Obviously.

6)       In public appearances before the memorial, I would hope my father Joe Jackson would traipse around with a guy named Marshal promoting their business projects. That would honor my memory so much.

7)       I don’t know who Kobe Bryant is (sorry, not a sports guy), but he should definitely appear in some capacity at my memorial. 

8)       There must be a queen who speaks at my memorial. I will be very disappointed if the best you can do is Queen Latifah.

9)       Finally – and this is really important – I should be buried in an Egyptian pyramid. To be clear, I mean one of the actual Egyptian pyramids, not a small-scale model like the Luxor Hotel in Las Vegas. I particularly like the cat-shaped one. I think they call it The Sphinx, though it may not be technically a pyramid. Yea, that’s what I want. I want to be buried in The Sphinx. But it should be modified and fitted with neon lights. 

Iran

If my death just happens to coincide with an election scandal in Iran and the Iranian people are in the streets protesting for change while being brutally repressed by the government for voicing their demands for freedom, I would like my death to supersede all media coverage of it.

Memorializing Me on Television

Anyone who I’ve met, however briefly, or even so much as glanced at, or appeared to have glanced at during a concert, should go on television to discuss my life. It goes without saying that they should pretend that they were very close to me and offer their insight into what my deepest, most intimate thoughts were.  

Guardianship of My Children

If any of my children are minors at the time of my death, I would like my mother, Katherine Jackson, to serve as their guardian. If she fails to survive me, or is unable to serve in that capacity, I nominate Diana Ross to serve in that role. 

In that not-too-unlikely event that Diana feels that she cannot carry out these guardianship duties without the background support of The Supremes, I nominate Mr. Peter Pan to assume guardianship of my children. In the unlikely event that Mr. Pan does not exist, or that somehow he has managed to grow up (and Tinkerbell does not feel she is capable of assuming guardianship duties on her own), then my children should be cared for by Bubbles the chimp. As you are aware, Bubbles the chimp was my best friend for many years and now lives in a monkey zoo in Florida. Ideally, I would like Bubbles to move to Los Angeles to assume the role of guardian. However, if Bubbles feels more comfortable raising my children in his zoo with his animal friends, I would find that acceptable. In the unfortunate event that Bubbles has died of the Ebola virus or fell to his death from a tree after slipping on a banana peel like I have seen happen in cartoons, I would like Charlie and/or his Oompa Loompas to raise my children in Charlie’s famed Chocolate Factory.

Confessions

In conclusion, as I ascend to that great Neverland Ranch in the sky, I would like to make a few final confessions:  

-          Despite being called the moonwalk, that is not actually how people walk on the moon.  

-          I know it may be surprising, but I may have had a few more than the two plastic surgeries than I admitted to journalist Martin Bashir. 

-          Billie Jean was, in fact, my lover. 

Signed,

The King of Pop, both in this world and in the next.  

© 2009 North Star Writers Group. May not be republished without permission.

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