Writing one's first official blog is a pretty humbling event. Blogs are very personal. You have to establish trust with your readers and give them something to think about.
On Facebook you can afford to be coy and brash, shooting off brilliant one-liners to those who have friended you in order to hang onto high school memories after their third husband has left them for a youthful new lover that they just met on MySpace.
MySpace allows you to outright lie and live in an adult fantasy world when you are only twelve.
Twitter allows you to tweet about the most insignificant and mundane events like the time the police raided your house and dragged away that creepy old guy who agreed to meet you while your parents were away at their class reunion. Or that time you peed a little during the Heart concert.
Blogs are far more complex. They allow you to expound on the depths of your soul and delve into the bowels of your dreams in ways that can easily be gathered into books for future study. I want this blog spot to be personal and sometimes a little too honest and revealing. I want this standard because you are important to me. Without your support I would be like a defenseless dandelion in a vast wind storm. Scattered and drifting. Unfocused and frightened.
What I am about to tell you has been a secret so heavy and awkward that it has nearly crushed the joy out of my life. I have hid this from everyone for years. It is my hidden shame. On the outside I have have put on the face of a carefree clown. On the inside I have cried out for release like a small red fox with its paw clamped firmly in a hunter's winter field trap. My blood winding its way through the cold snow until my vision blurs and I am too weak to gnaw my leg off as I hear my death approaching with his dogs.
Sharing it with you now will set me free to return to the world of men and of dignity.
I AM BLANKET JACKSON'S FATHER. There. I have finally said it.
Several years ago, I had the opportunity to attend a party thrown by the King of Pop and was ushered into a secret room where I was offered money to be the seed doner for Michael Jackson's third child. At first I tried to turn down the offer, but I needed the money to pay for some cereal premiums I had ordered on eBay. I don't know who the woman was. I never did see her face. She was wearing a blanket over her head just like me. I blacked out when we were through. I awoke hours later at a bus station in southern California. Sheepishly, I rifled through my pockets for the promised payment for my drunken act. All that was there was a note that simply read, "Beat It!"
When I returned to Ohio, I somehow managed to put the whole thing out of my mind. I went back to my job picking up litter in the executive parking lot of a now bankrupt national drug store chain. Every once in a while, I would see something that reminded me of that strange night. Usually, it was something on the radio. Then it all came to a head for me. I saw Michael dangle his son from a hotel window. Those helpless flapping arms. Those Fred Flintstone toes. That chubby baby fat. THAT BLANKET!
I immediately began to write letters to Neverland demanding to see my son. I got beat up by security guards for attempting to scale the fence that surrounded the Jackson property. I appealed to the authorities but to no avail. Nothing worked.
Jackson seemed to mock me on VH1 with lines from "Billy Jean" that included the line, "the kid is not my son." What other proof did the courts need? One day I just gave up. Then Michael died. Now the whole child custody topic is up in the air again. I can't fight Michael's dermatologist or even LaToya for that matter. I could probably take Jermaine in a fight, but I think Tito would outright kick my ass. I just don't have the liquid assets.
Look. I've posted an image of myself and one of my beautiful son Blanket. We belong together. Please help me fight the Jackson estate for custody of my son. He needs me. I know he cries in his sleep. I can feel his tears. If you can find it in your heart to send me some money to fight for sweet little Blanket, I will pray that God increases your bank account 100 fold. If you send me that, then i will pray that He increases what you have left a thousand fold. I have sown my seed; now will you help me by sending a cash seed donation to: Cash, 23 South Hartford Avenue, Youngstown, Ohio 44509 USA. (Make sure you write "Blanket Funds" in the memo area of your check or money order so it will be allocated properly.) Thank you!
Tonight, when you go to sleep, make sure you rub your blanket against your cheek. Imagine that my son is snuggling with you. And smiling.
Whew! Thanks for letting me get this off my chest. You are simply the best! I love you so much. Your friendship is magical to me!