Sunday, June 28, 2009

You'd Think He Was The Only Dead Guy Around

Los Angeles, CA

So, yeah. Rant time.

Michael Jackson. Let's see. Decent singer, hell of a dancer, awesome sideshow freak. Suspected pedophile. And he's dead, a fact which I'm sure all of you have been endlessly inundated with by now. How'd he die? Who knows. Personally I don't much care.

Now he died, what, Thursday? And his autopsy was Friday.

This makes me angry.

Back in the distant lands of 2006, the L.A. County Coroner was running a serious backlog. They had bodies double and triple stacked. They've had to contract out to Cedars-Sinai to help out with autopsies and with local morticians to handle the cremations. As far as I know they haven't gotten much better.

They currently have 4,773 unclaimed persons, many of whom are sitting in little boxes in a brick building on Mission Road. They handle the entire load of the murders in the City of Los Angeles, 138 this year, as well as the whole of Los Angeles County, 107 so far from reporting agencies. Plus questionable deaths.

They even do private autopsies. Six thousand bucks a head, in case you're interested. Bring you kids. Fun for the whole family.

In 2005 out of 18,854 reported cases they handled 9,494 of them. Accidents, suicides, homicides and natural causes.

They are, and have been and will be, in a word, busy.

So why does Michael Jackson get an autopsy the next day?

It's not because they don't know what killed him. Lots of those hit the Medical Examiner and those can take days or weeks to get around to. Even if they do, and it's obvious, like a gunshot, it could be a week or more.

It's money, of course. And noise. He's an important guy. More important than the rest of us. As important a pederast as you're ever going to find, certainly. The family wants to know, the media wants to know. Hell, Agnes Lippenschlinger in Bayou Creek, Louisiana standing in line at the Piggly-Wiggly with a National Enquirer in her fat, sweaty hands wants to know.

And chances are, so do you.

This is LA and if there's one thing we do well it's carve up our idols. So you'll have your answer soon enough. Probably sooner than we'll know who killed Danny Quijada, 30, who was gunned down outside his apartment in May.

Or Herbert Turner, 42, shot on 48th and South Ascot. Christopher Herera, 18, dead in Koreatown. Anson Greenwood, Raul Castillo, David Mam, Dannie Farber, Robert Rodwell, Jose Ramos, Ly Tran, Erika Balayan, Courtney Adams, Draysean Earl, Rosa Gallegos, Thomas Wade, Abraham Mkrtchyan, Michael McCullough, or Daniel Chavez.

So fuck you, Michael Jackson. I give a rat's ass how important a pop singer you were.

Like everybody else, get in line.


LL said...

THANK you. It boggles my mind that if you even mentioned his name 2 weeks ago, people would have had attitude of "screw that sicko". Now he dies and these same morons are saying how great he was and how the loved everything he ever did. Oh really now? Did they just have a collective brain lapse?

Wilfredo said...

Good for you, man!

Gerard Saylor said...

Yeah, that's too bad. I just ran across a Jackson entry on the blog that is interesting:

td said...

This is terrific. I was thinking similar things, but couldn't close to expressing them this well. Thank you.