To: Michael "Slippers" Jackson From: Merkley??? I'm Sorry.

Everyone asks:

"Merkley??? What is it exactly that you do? How do you support yourself?"

I must confess that I've given many answers over the years. Most were lies.

Due to recent news events, I am urged by forces unseen to confess very difficult and humiliating things to you, my only real friends.

Whew -- deep breath. Here we go:

Although I do a bang up 5 minute tubal ligation, I'm not a freelance surgeon.

Although I am A HUGE fan of the poet/hippie/goddess/singer Jewel, she is not my wife and I don't own a diamond mine. Fuck that. I hate Jewel. Bitch. Truth -- aahh.

Although I'm often pantsless and I routinely drive slutty, drunken blind dates to their watery graves and my head is a gigantic red flashing ball of pulsating rosacea, I'm not a Kennedy.

Although I dress to impress, I am not a famous ballerina or golfer or grocer or dentist.

Although I keep a dead hamster under my pillow......
OK, that's enough occupational confession for now. Let's get to the big confession.

This is Sad. No laughing.

In the early nineties, just hours after getting fired for farting in my sleep at the last 9to5 I ever had, I rode my bike from Utah all the way to my hero, Michael Jackson's Neverland Ranch.

Seriously, don't judge me. I feel like you're gonna judge me. Please, stay your daggers and hold your stones. I am already wounded. WOUNDED I tell ya. Geez.

Okay -- During that trip I became ---- ummmmm ------ ok ------ um ----- I became ---- ummm Michael Jackson's latest "It Boy".

There, I said it. I'm a filthy, dirty, shameful little boy. I'm disgusting.

You all know that Michael had meaningless romantic flings with that freakish midget Webster (btw everybody fucked Webster, I'm surprised he don't got AIDS - slut), that homo sissy McCaully Cockring and that handsome, dirty, two faced chimpanzee *PERVERT* Bubbles. Those were all about just sex. I was the first one with whom Michael Jackson ever fell truly, deeply, madly and passionately in love. Trust me. All true. Swear.

Crap. I knew this was gonna happen. Sorry, I'm crying like a gay ass baby as I type this so please excuse me if I get tears or snot or blood on the screen.

I know what you're thinking, and you are right, I was in my mid 20's in the early nineties, but Michael didn't know it. I told him I was 12 and I'm not too delighted to say that I had the penis to prove it. Fuck off.

I'll spare you the details of how I manipulated and tricked him into falling in love with me because I'm NOT here to toot my own horn. Rather, I'm here to explain why it is that Michael Jackson, by following my wicked advice, is in trouble for tooting a certain little horn of a certain naughty little "cancerous" boy. (yeah right. cancer. I hope that little cancerous slut dies. Homewrecker bitch.)

As I have been unable to contact him spiritually (our normal method of contact) due to the Nation of Islam creating a frickin' spiritual black hole around him (pun sorta intended) and because I know he reads this blog, the next part I will address directly to Michael or "Slippers" as I call him.

Slippers,

I AM SOOOOOO SORRY!!

I mean this from the bottom of my putred, evil, black, aching, B>R>O>K>E>N> heart.

I am sorry for telling you that vaginas were yucky, smelly and diseasey. Vaginas are actually rad.

I am sorry for telling you my head lice were cooties that I got from an average girl. I actually got them from a fat kid named Carl.

I am sorry that as you slept like a little angel, I whispered into your monkey ear over and over and over : "You are Peter Pan. You are Peter Pan. "

I am sorry for smearing you in Peter Pan peanut butter especially considering how rough Bubbles' tounge was.

I am sorry for peeing on you.

I am sorry for playing "Got Your Nose" too rambunciously. Biting, chewing and actual detatchment of nose is not normally part of the game.

I am sorry that I told you that I could fix your nose with gum and silly putty.

I am sorry for lighting Bubbles on fire -- but he was getting between us, and not in that hott kinda way like at first.

I am sorry for tricking you into taking a bath in Liquid Drano™, but you know how I feel about negroes.

I am sorry for telling you the cleft in your chin needed to be deep enough to hide four toes and a squirt of lotion.

I am sorry for telling you over and over and over that you were "Invincible". I meant to say "Inbincible" which is Mexican. I don't even understand Mexican.

I am sorry for humping LaToya on the merry-go round just to demonstrate "icky and messy". Most girls don't have two sideways vaginas like your sister. That was weird.

I'm sorry for making you keep your nose in the middle of the icky, messy business. We really should have let that thing heal or at least scab over first. I did not expect that infection --- very much.

I am sorry for all those "White Power" pamphlets I made you read, but it was part of the Drano™ plan.

I am sorry for taking you to the cancer wing in the pediatrics ward. Although it should be, every young boy's last dying wish is not to have their "magic wand" "blessed" by Peter Pan.

MOST OF ALL, I am sorry for faking cancer, and teaching you exactly how to "bless" my magic wand. I especially should have been more gentle with you. Neck punching is not really how we treat the ones we love and it has nothing to do with blessing. I guess I was just being a dick.

I know your heart. It is pure, It is *I* that am to blame for all this mess that you are in. It is *I* that should be in court everyday bearing the weight of the jokes and the cruel public. If I could trade places with you right now I'd do it in a billionth of one billionth of one sparkle.

SO THY PEOPLES OF EARTH -- IF YE HAVEST STONES THROWEST THEM AT I!!

Let's be realistic. That's not gonna happen. We covered our tracks too well. The Norwegian bank accounts? Solid. Even with this confession the world will scoff and call me a liar and I know you will not crack because, .... Slippers, ,,,, you are... WE are.... OUR LOVE is ... --- +++ >>> INVINCIBLE. or something.

Crap -- now I am really bawling --BZZZT --OUch --What the? --BZZZT -- holy crraabbbbzzzzzzzlllllssshhhht -- The computer shocked me ---- smoke from the BZZZZZZT KEyboard ---OW ----- Snot flowiBBBZZZZZZT --- tears -- bzzzzztttkkkkkkkkrrkkk --- fuck that hurts! - I need a BZZZZZRRRRRRRRRNNNNNT === fuck zzzzzzzzzzpppprrrk tissue ZTZTZTTZTZTZTZZZZ.

Ok I'm back from the emergency room. Where was I?

Oh yes. Tissue -- . Kleenex... hhhhhmmuuh. Ah the memories.

You know though, at the hospital I found myself kinda re-thinking our suicide pact. I mean, I think we should travel separately -- so to speak. It's just that, I think it's important for at least one of us to stay back and make sure things go right. I mean somebody has to make sure that you are properly sandblasted, marinated, pickled and wrapped in a cocoon of dolphin foreskin like we always dreamed.

We can't trust Janet. She hates you. She told me.

Here is what I suggest:

1. Have Dr. What's-His-Ass fashion and fit you with a plastic, remote controlled, exploding heart.

2. Half way through the defense part of the trial, Either Tito or I will zap you, exploding your heart and sending you on to the real eternal, MAGICAL Never Never Land. Trial over.

3. We will gather statements from top doctors who are sure to confirm that "Michael Jackson died of a broken, exploded heart." (By the way, did you notice the broken heart as an actual medical fact thing last month in the news? Who do you think was the genius who worked that out? Exactly. I told you that bank account was neccessary.)

4. The world will herald you as Saint Michael, Patron Saint of Fucked up Noses.

5. Cancer bitch will be dragged through the streets and stomped to death. Slut.

6. Once you're in Never Never Land, IM me and we can go over the details about what we should do with the ranch before I join you.

7. Don't never say I never done nuthin fer ya.

Sound like a plan? Good. Trust me -- my days of deceit are over. This advice is good.

Bananas and peanut butter,
Love always,
Tinkerbell???

P.S. Can you have Jermaine deposit a little extra this month? My pony fund is like --- hello - hello - hello --- echo chamber.

P.P.S. Thanks for wearing my Jammies to court. That was sweet.