The Jackson family, as you have probably heard, have been arguing about Michael Jackson’s estate and the subsequent welfare of brother Michael’s kids Prince, Paris, and Prince II. Janet, Randy, Jermaine and Rebbie are in an all out war against brothers Marlon, Tito and Jackie. Apparently a plan has been in place for the last three years to remove Katherine Jackson, their legal guardian from her home. So when she disappeared and was reported missing and then later found to be with daughter Rebbie and other relatives in Arizona the executors started to voice concern. Arguably most of the siblings have been having some financial issues of their own, so instead of starting a legitimate business or getting a salaried position at a telemarketing firm they have mutually decided to fight Michael’s will and get their mother out of the picture. Their strategy, perhaps, is that if they are responsible for the kids they can tap into their trust funds and put it toward all the hair gel, sequin pants, and Italian marble fountains they have ever wanted.
Here’s my solution. I’ll take the kids.
Listen, I don’t want their money and Lord knows I don’t need any more stuff in my house. I need a machete at this point to get through my own kid’s toy chest. But these kids need some structure and a sense of family. You think Tito and Jermaine really care whether these kids have had breakfast or when they need a teeth cleaning? You think Marlon or Randy have the slightest interest in their report cards or whether they have been vaccinated? They need me.
But here’s the thing, if I am going to take these kids there’s got to be some ground rules.
1. They’re going to have to share the spare room. Probably not ideal for them after living in a 60,000 square foot mansion, but in time they will appreciate sleeping in bunks.
2. They’re going to have to change their names. I mean… I just can’t with those names.
3. Blanket’s got to pick up some slack. He’s been flying under the radar too long. I’m talking cutting the hedges, taking out the trash, and using the Swifter.
4. Everyone is getting a hair cut. I’m not feathering, flat ironing, or braiding a boy’s hair. You’re a 13 year old, not the lead singer of Motley Crue.
5. They’re all going to college, getting real degrees, and working normal jobs. Don’t tell me you’ve got to be a singer or “Produce” albums because “it’s in your blood.” This is your real dad, kids. (Except you Blanket). Does this guy look like someone who can sing, much less sing?
6. No cell phones. If you want to complain about me you can write it in your diary, not on Twitter.
7. The bodyguards are getting fired. How am I supposed to explain to the two other kids that T-Rock and Grizzle will take a bullet for you three but not them? I also don’t have the room. And how do I explain who they are at holiday parties?
8. Your relatives can’t visit you. I can’t listen to those voices. It’s like listening to bats. Plus it has always been a policy of mine to never be friends with someone named Tito. Sounds too much like tits.
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