Monday, October 28, 2013, is a day that will thrive on infamy in the hearts and souls of every Michael Jackson fan, nay fanatic, dotting the earth. This is the day that Michael Jackson's murderer, Conrad Murray, a subhuman who masqueraded as a "caring" doctor, was released from prison following a laughable four-year sentence for his crimes against humanity.
Now, I am not any sort of legal counsel, nor have I studied law by any stretch of the mind other than watching episodes of Law and Order: SVU, but I am aware of this: If a person is responsible for the death of another person, they serve a far longer sentence in prison than just FOUR YEARS!
So, I am utterly lost at the damn moment. I don't understand how Conrad Murray, who was hired to take care of Michael Jackson, look after him, ensure his health, could walk off when Michael needed him THE MOST, and let the life drain from his thin body.
Now yes, I understand Michael was misusing a strong anesthetic to go to sleep. But Michael did not administer it to himself. He did not push the needle into his veins or pump the medicine through it.
Conrad Murray did this.
That goofy looking nigger was hired and paid a hefty sum of 5 MILLION dollars to only sit and watch Michael Jackson as he slept. Hell, I can think of a dozen fans right now who would forgo sleep, coffee and food just to sit at Michael's bedside and keep an eye on him. FOR FREE!!!!!
But no, this nigger had to choose then, as Michael was going to sleep, to get up and walk away, out the room, down the hall and chat up one of his whores on his phone. I sat through the Murray murder trial. He was NOT calling to his expectant baby mama--and he has a bigger litter than Jermaine Jackson--he was talking to no brain having little hookers/strippers/VD making machines.
Couldn't he have just texted her? Bitches like smiley faces!
And when he returned, Michael Jackson was dead.
Not gasping for air, not crying for help.
DEAD.
Gone, cold, blue, lifeless.
But I believe Michael Jackson left this world, knowing what was happening to him.
Coroner's reports states that Michael's eyes and mouth were OPEN, indicating that in the last moments of life, he most likely was looking for Murray, and perhaps, even weakly, called for HELP.
(Now of course, as his body was jostled post-mortem, his eyes and mouth could have opened, especially with the half-assed CPR being administered.)
Now the course of events following the discovery of Michael's body will forever be a thorn in my ass.
Conrad Murray was touted to be a "cardiac" doctor, and yet when he started doing compressions on Michael, I really think one of his young children could have done better.
CPR is supposed to be administered with the victim on a flat, sturdy surface.
This crazy, Planet of the Apes looking nigger was trying to do compressions on Michael while he was still in BED, on a soft mattress, and flopping around all over.
In the middle of this, he called for Prince, who, at the time, was only a 12-year-old little boy. If you call a little boy in and he sees his daddy dead, what do you expect him to do?
Start crying! Which is what he did. Michael's three children had a natural fit when they saw their father gone.
(Michael with his three children in happier times)
Everything Conrad Murray, that low, rat bastard did, seemed like the WRONG thing in all facets to me. He waited almost 45 minutes to call 911 and instead of screaming "MICHAEL JACKSON IS DYING!" like any normal person would, he simply referred to MJ as a "gentleman". Like yeah, Michael was a gentleman, but damn it, at anytime to wave his name around, this would be the appropriate time.
Then as the medics were loading the body away, with three children losing their minds in the room, Murray was trying to pack away, hide and dispose of propofol bottles. Trying to backtrack, eat shit , and cover his tracks.
Really bitch? Really?
Seriously? This nigger was hiding shit!
And then while the world was falling apart, not just for Michael's family, but for all the fans I know, Murray turned into the bitch a million people wanted to kill.
Not once did this son of a bitch actually own up to his own wrongdoings. I may have stopped salivating and wanting to taste his blood if he had stood up like a REAL MAN and said "I did wrong, Michael died on my watch, I'm sorry."
No, I'd have a better chance of French kissing Satan than that happening.
All through the trial, this son of a bitch, asshole, pussy ass bastard sat like he had done nothing wrong. Really, I kept hoping for Tito Jackson to climb over the barrier and lay him out.
I don't know why I specifically wanted Tito, just because he looks like he can throw a decent punch.
Fans here were besides themselves. Wide eyed, crying in disbelief, blood thirsty as I was.
Now I won't be nice, and I won't conceal my feelings. I want the man to die. It's an eye-for-an-eye type of situation. I want him to die. I don't care if it's a sudden dropping dead, a speeding bush knocking him over, or a vigilante armed with a Swiss Army knife, I feel this world would be better off without him in it.
All I can think of really, is the Saw film series.
It would be absolutely stunning to me if Murray suddenly woke up in a room and had to like chew his arm off or something to get away. And even after he amputated his own appendage, the room would blow up, or a pack of wolves come in and tear him apart like a gummy bear.
It most likely won't happen, but I would be pleased if it did happen.
I don't think anything too bad can happen to Murray. Nothing is too bad to me. Honestly. I may be evil and branded as a cold heart, unfeeling bitch, but in regards to Murray, I wear that title proudly.
I don't think that roach is fit to live, fit to walk the Earth, fit to be around other decent, normal God-fearing people.
He took this from the world:
He took Michael Jackson from the world. A man who only wanted to love and be loved. A man who wanted to bring sweet music and gifted dancing to the world. An man who gave to charities liberally. Who wanted to help the less fortunate. A man who poured his heart out to the world and wanted only to hug and kiss every person in it.
Michael Jackson was a man who poured millions of his money into the creation of The Neverland Valley Ranch. All for the purpose of helping sick and impoverished children to have a day of happiness. Free candy, cookies, cartoons and rides. The hugs and kisses they needed. The piece of childhood they could cherish. As a child all my life I wanted to go there, even as an adult, I still wanted to go, run and shoot water pistols at Michael.
But this man had to die? Because he only loved and wore his heart on his sleeve?
This is why I want karma and God to cut Murray for loop. Nothing good can possibly come to this man. Nothing good at all, when you're so ignorant, such a sociopath, that you cannot recognize and own up to your own shortcomings and wrong doings. Nothing good can come to somebody who deep down to the core IS NOT GOOD. Murray is a rotten louse, who deserves to be in jail until time ceases to pass, and have a nice, big rough trick name Tiny make him his wife.
I am bitter. I am angry. I am cold.
This is a lovely jacket. It should still be hanging in Michael's closet. Not on his small cold body in the Glendale Forest Lawn cemetery.
Michael won't get to walk Paris down the aisle to give her away, or be the Best Man when his sons marry. He won't get to hold and kiss his first grandchild. That was stolen from him.
And I hope to God on all things Holy, he haunts Murray every waking day of his natural life.
Karma is a bitch and I want that bitch to get Murray.
I'm through.
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