It all started with an innocent letter.

I just thought I would write Michael Jackson a letter and offer him some advice, what happened next is still hard for me to believe. Here is the first letter. I’ll post the replies and the ongoing correspondence over the next few weeks. enjoy??

Mr. Michael Jackson
Not Neverland, CA
Dubai, United Arab Emirates 
Giant Laser Eyed Robot Thing, Las Vegas, NV

Dear Mr. Jackson,

I am a big fan. But not really… eh.

Let me explain. I like the ABC Michael Jackson, Off The Wall Michael Jackson, and some of Thriller Michael Jackson. I am not a fan of the monkey carrying Michael Jackson. However, I have never knowingly called you “wacko-jacko”.

Michael let me be frank, you need a makeover. And not some nipping, tucking, smoothing, and peeling kind of thing. I’m talking about a musical makeover. Hey let’s face it, you’re not a kid anymore. Am I right? You’re like 50 or something. It’s okay to get older. Everybody does it. Even Peter Pan got older in that Steven Spielberg version with the creepy lost boys and the precocious Julia Roberts. You don’t have to dance the same as you used to. No more moonwalking for you!

I’d like to suggest a couple of ideas on how to resurrect your career. First let me tell you about a friend of mine.

This friend (let’s call him “Pinter McGee”) is three feet tall. Pinter is a three foot tall professional rodeo cowboy on the OshKosh B’Gosh Lil’ Bronco Buster ProRodeo Tour. He rides and ropes miniaturized holstein cows and shetland ponies. Like you, Michael, he’s had his share of ups and downs (and not just on the back of a tiny cow!!). He’s been Lil’ Grand National Champion nine times during the 1980’s and 1990’s. And has placed 2nd four times. Impressive! But ten years ago things took a turn south.

It was the summer of 1998 and Pinter was at the top of his game. He could rope a tiny pony faster than anyone in his division. He’d ride one tiny pony, then with a rope, capture another tiny pony, then hop off the first tiny pony and tie up the second tiny pony, all in about 15 minutes. It was quite a site seeing him run around! Sometimes his hat would fly off to the cheers of the crowd. He was very zippy!!

Around this time Pinter discovered the Internet and MMORPGs. He loved Ultima Online. He could become anyone he wanted. He could become someone other than who he was. The avatar that he created was a 6 foot 6 inch female necromancer from the city of Yew in the land of Britannia named Ellora Anwamanë. When he was in this world, he towered over all the other creatures. With his long sinewy legs and ample bosom, he became an object of desire for many Britannians of the former Sosaria (sound familiar Michael?). He became addicted to being someone else.

He spent all day and all night in front of his screen. He would no longer bathe. He would no longer sleep. He would drink nothing but cherry-cola Slurppees and eat nothing but Doritos. His stubby fingers became calloused and stained with orange nacho cheese dust. But worst of all, he would no longer ride his beloved tiny cows. They were left to wander in their cages.

Pinter’s obsession turned him into a pale blob of his former self. He started to resemble a chewed piece of bubble gum that was stuck to a stool. His only function was to tap his fingers on the keyboard and dart his eyes on occasion. The only way he would communicate was through his alter ego, Ellora.

Inside the game and the world of Britannia, Ellora thrived. She would summon the dead and conjure the demon Nebrios to do her bidding. Ellora would strut and prance around like a woman in command and soon she became the Overseer of Terfin, the volcanic island once home to Lord Blackthorn’s palace. In this role, Ellora (Pinter) had her way with many gargoyles. It was a dream come true for Ellora. But this dream would soon come crashing down around her.

It was a hot, dry summer afternoon. A wicked wind kicked up dirt devils that would cyclone and coat the teeth of the coyotes with a chalky red film. The rodeo was over for the day and it was time to go. Pinter’s trailer had to be unplugged and hitched up to the Ford F150 and they had to get on the road to Tuscon. The school children would be there and OshKosh B’Gosh needed to sell their overalls. With a yank of the chord connected to the power hook-up, Pinter’s screen went blank and he was left sitting motionless and blinking as the truck and trailer jerked into motion. There would be no sweet gargoyle action for Ellora Anwamanë and her minions tonight.

Michael, I know what you are thinking. You are thinking, “why couldn’t he just stay in Britannia in his mind?Why couldn’t he just stay?? Why couldn’t he be there forever?? He was so much happier! Why??”

Well Michael, I’ll tell you why. Because the children needed him. They needed him to ride his small donkeys (donks). They needed him to rope and tie up those lil’ ponies. They needed him more than he needed to dance akimbo in the moonlight of Minoc. It took a shock to the system for Pinter to realize…. the children needed him. And all of a sudden, he realized that he needed them too.

Just as the children needed Pinter McGee, so do the children need Michael Jackson. Michael, you need to come out of hiding and out from under your shroud for the children. Think of the children! You don’t want to scare them with your squeaking and skipping and touching. No! You want to sing for them. Sing songs for their generation. Songs of joy and of handguns. It’s time Michael for you to come back. The children need you, and the world needs you! You can bring our war-torn planet the joy it so dearly desires!

The music make-over that I mentioned above, will have to come in a different letter at a different time. I realize now that you must tell me that you’re ready. You must want this Michael. I can’t change you, you must want to change yourself.

I may not have all the answers, and I certainly have no business writing you. I mean I barley like you. But I think you of all people can relate to Pinter’s story.

Sadly, Pinter perished during the fateful attacks of September 11, 2001. At 9:15 AM he was trampled by a rush of drunken rodeo clowns on their way to watch CNN. As he laid there, on the floor of the International House of Pancakes, breathing his last breath, he said to me… “tell my story. MJ must know!” It took me seven years and a restraining order from Michael Jordan’s lawyer to finally figure out that my friend Pinter… meant you. The King of Pop.

Michael, please let me know that you are ready for a comeback. Please tell me that Pinter has not died in vain. I think he was put on earth for two reasons. To delight the children and rodeo fans everywhere and to inspire you to make music again.

Oh and “Rock With You” is a pretty good song.

Sincerely,
David Beach