Bernie Madoff played uncle to the world’s rich. He comforted those who had family struggles, promised great things to the Hollywood elite, and controlled a mass of wealth at $171 billion. And all he asked for in return was your trust.
That’s when Uncle Bernie slid the knife into his clients’ backs.
Though the world saw very little of the little Jackson crew – Michael Joseph Jackson Jr., 12, Paris Michael Katherine Jackson, 11, and Prince Michael Jackson II, 7 – the world seems to be just a bit worried and is certainly wondering about what’s going to happen to Jackson babes now that King Michael is gone.
In an article published by USA Today, it was confirmed (at least until the family’s hearing scheduled for Aug. 3) that M.J.’s mother, Katherine, will care for the kids, since it appears that Jackson departed without a valid will.
What I’m wondering, and I’m sure you all are too, is where in the world is Ms. Debbie Rowe, Jackson’s strange (rather than estranged) ex-wife in all this? She is, in fact, the mother of the oldest of Jackson’s children.
As a great friend of mine once said, “Love is weird sometimes.” The following two stories are proof.
Our first story starts on a dark summer’s night in May. Twenty-one-year-old Richard McTear Jr. was with the woman he loved, 17-year-old Jasmine Bedwell and her adorable 3-month-old son. As Richard looked at Jasmine, he was overwhelmed by her beauty and could do nothing but…attack her.
To further prove his love to her, he took her baby, Emanuel Wesley Murray and threw him onto the concrete. When he saw this wasn’t enough, McTear drove off with Jasmine’s baby and threw him from a car window while driving on the highway.
Baby Emanuel died.
It’s not been an easy year for any of the world’s economies. The housing market crumbled and took down banks and brokerages left and right, destroyed the American auto industry, which was once regarded too big to fail, and sapped the U.S. economy alone for over $1 trillion in stimulus money attempting to slow the free fall and break us out from the worst economic situation we’ve had in most of our lifetimes.
Unemployment has shot up, with the national average nearing 10 percent, while some metropolitan areas, such as El Centro, Calif., are looking at upwards of 26.9 percent unemployment.
Jobs are hard to come by, and to make matters worse, jobs that pay enough to make ends meet are even more scarce.
There is, however, one group of people that the media keeps claiming are the beneficiaries of the moment: college students. Student loans, scholarships, grants and cheap living make lives for these individuals easier, according to the news outlets and general consensus.
I beg to differ on the matter.
Americans have what must be the shortest memory of any modern society, eagerly placing the blame on the nearest figurehead available, failing to use reason and rational thinking to seek the root of any problem. Our society has long relied on storytellers to give us the details on a platter, and for us to follow blindly without looking into history and precedent set to determine where the truth may be hidden behind a veil of lies and misdirection.
Take the economy for instance. America blames Bush for our economic turmoil, much to the public’s own ignorance. He provided a convenient scapegoat for all the troubles in foreign policy with the wars around the world to our dismay at our economic stability on the domestic front. His goofy grin and poor public speaking ability allowed the populace to mock him at will, believing him to be incompetent. Unfortunately, competence does not always come hand in hand with charisma, otherwise Obama would be the savior a blind America has hoped for and yet has not seen.
The root of our economic problems sits before our former President Bush. Our problem rests in a man known for his fiasco in Yugoslavia, his bombing of the no-fly zone in Iraq, and the military SNAFU he caused in Somalia. Oh, and he is also known for not knowing the definition of the word ‘is’ and of ‘not’ having sexual relations with one Monica Lewinsky.
Yes, America’s herpes has come out of remission once again: Bill Clinton.
As his blue eyes peer out from behind no-frame glasses, 71-year-old inventor Bob Rigby sits drinking his second coffee of the morning. Born and raised in Venice, Fla., Rigby is familiar with the area and smiles at each person walking by.
Rigby has experienced all that comes with growing up on the Gulf Coast of Florida, including red tide. After seeing some of its terrible affects, he decided to take matters into his own hands, and in 1992, he began research to find a cure.
Nine years later, Rigby found it.
The King of Pop, the Man in the Mirror, the Moonwalker…is dead at age 50, the result of cardiac arrest, according to various news reports.
Of course, this isn’t news to you. The headline’s been running nonstop since word first surfaced around 12:30 p.m. PST, yesterday, June 25, that Michael Jackson has left the building for the last time. But can you believe it? Has it sunk in yet?
I saw dead people today at a museum. Real, live dead people.
Well, obviously they weren’t “alive,” but they used to be not too long ago. As I walked through the Body Worlds exhibit at the Museum of Science and Industry (MOSI) in Tampa, Fla., created by Dr. Gunther von Hagens, there was so much to take in. I’m not one to be freaked out by anatomical stuff like that or dead bodies, but I couldn’t get over the fact that the bodies posed in educational positions were actual, real human bodies.
I’ve never liked school.
Ever since the first grade, I’ve tried to think of ways to get out of going to school. I played every line in the book. It made me become a bit of a hypochondriac, which came in handy while living with my parents, but once I made it to college, I couldn’t fool myself.
No sickness could help me escape the fact that I couldn’t wait to get out of school. In middle school and high school I had a countdown taped to the inside of my locker that kept track of my closest break.
While college is much better, 17 straight years of education has proven to be incredibly draining. Yet, somehow, I find myself considering going to…graduate school.
(Oh, kill me.)
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