Joe Jackson wrote a post on his website complaining that none of his relatives want to see him. He didn’t mention this is because many of them regularly appear on Oprah to acknowledge how he beat the crap out of them. Jackson lives in a modest condo in Vegas. He’s had four strokes. He probably deserves more. When he was recovering in the hospital Janet was the only one who visited him, probably in a failed attempt to pull the plug or raid his old sheet music for song ideas. Jackson ekes out a meager existence trying to cash in on his deceased son’s name, who stipulated in his will that Joe Jackson be escorted to an international territory where he could be lawfully murdered by chimps. Joe refuses to admit wrongdoing while copping a plea for the affection of those who hate him. My money says that strategy is likely to fail at the rate of Jackson’s nervous system. His only hope is that Jamie Foxx makes a Jackson biopic and pays Joe to reveal the secret of getting his evil cartoon mustache so thin.
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