Michael Jackson was once called a “disturbing person to be around” by Elton John.
Some musicians could only dream of having careers in music like John and Jackson’s, and occasionally their lives even overlapped.
The 77-year-old singer of “I’m Still Standing” made startling remarks about the King of Pop, who passed away in 2009 at the age of 50, in his 2019 biography “Me.”
John said that he had known Jackson “since he was 13 or 14” and that the singer was “the most adorable kid you could imagine” in an incredible clip that was obtained by Radar Online.
He says that when Jackson’s mental state deteriorated, especially in his later years, he started to retreat from reality, and that’s when things changed.
The vocalist of “Rocket Man” came to the conclusion that Jackson had “totally lost his marbles” by the 2000s.
John, meanwhile, is adamant that Jackson’s problems started far earlier.
John claimed that on a lunch date in the 1990s, he saw the pop legend looked unwell, covered in plaster and cosmetics. The singer was named Billy Jean.
John said, “The poor guy looked awful, really frail and ill.”
The “Rocket Man” singer claimed that when Jackson left the table “without a word,” the lunch took a bad turn.
According to People, he completed half of his four-year prison sentence.
Insinuating that Jackson was addicted to painkillers, John said, “What prescription drugs he was being pumped full of?”
According to John, Jackson was later discovered “quietly playing games” with her 11-year-old kid in the housekeeper’s cottage.
John enumerated his impressions of Jackson elsewhere in the narrative, asserting: “He
Despite having millions of admirers worldwide, Jackson’s legacy took a hit after accusations surfaced in the 2019 documentary Leaving Neverland.
The documentary, which was shot and produced by Dan Reed, centers on Wade Robson and James Safechuck, who claim that Jackson sexually molested them while they were kids.
The Jackson family discussed the claims that the “Thriller” singer sexually molested young children at his Neverland Ranch with Gayle King on CBS This Morning after the film Leaving Neverland was released.
Robson and Safechuck, according to the Jackson family, came forward asking for money.
Marlon Jackson, the brother of the singer, said: “I want people to know and understand that this documentary is not portraying the truth. Not a single piece of evidence has been found to support their account.
On June 25, 2009, Jackson passed away as a result of a deadly mix of prescription medications.
According to ABC News, the Los Angeles coroner’s office stated that the singer passed away from acute propofol intoxication, with the benzodiazepine effect being mentioned as a contributing factor.
Jackson’s mode of death was similarly determined by the coroner to be murder.
In 2011, Conrad Murray, Jackson’s personal physician, was found guilty of involuntary manslaughter.
Wealthy Neighbor’s Son Shattered My Window with a Ball — They Declined to Compensate, but Fate Struck from an Unexpected Source
I marched outside, the offending baseball clutched in my hand like a grenade. Baron Bigshot was in his driveway, polishing his luxury car with the care most people reserve for newborns.
“Hey!” I shouted, storming up to him. “Your son’s baseball just came through my window. It nearly hit my daughter!”
He barely glanced up. “Oh? And you’re sure it was my son’s ball?”
I thrust the blueberry pie-lathered ball in his face. “Unless baseballs are falling from the sky now, yes, I’m pretty sure.”
He sighed like I was some peasant interrupting his important car-polishing duties. “Look, Ms…”
“Angela. We’ve been neighbors for three years.”
He waved his hand dismissively. “Right, right. Angela. Do you have any proof it was my Billy’s ball?”
I stared at him, dumbfounded. “Proof? There’s pie filling on it!”
“Ah,” he nodded sagely, “so you admit you tampered with the evidence.”
I felt my eye start to twitch. “Listen here, Baron Big—”
“I beg your pardon?”
I took a deep breath. “Mr. Worthington. Your son broke my window. He could have seriously hurt my daughter. The least you could do is pay for the repairs.”
He chuckled, actually chuckled! “My dear, do you know how much that would cost?”
“Probably less than one of your car’s tires,” I muttered.
His eyes narrowed. “I don’t appreciate your tone. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a birthday party to prepare for. Important guests are coming, you understand. Out of my property!”
He said that. Yep! No apology. No NOTHIN’.
As he turned away, something in me snapped. “Oh, I understand perfectly. I understand that you care more about your fancy party than the safety of your neighbors!”
He spun around, his face red. “Now see here—”
But I was on a roll. “No, you see here! Your son has been terrorizing this neighborhood for months. We’ve all been too polite to say anything, but enough is enough. You need to take responsibility!”
“I suggest you leave now before I call the police for trespassing.”
Defeated and furious, I trudged back home, the sound of his expensive sprinkler system mocking me with every step.
The rest of the day passed in a blur of cleaning up glass and comforting a still-shaken Penny.
As evening fell, the sounds of Baron Bigshot’s party drifted over. Laughter, clinking glasses, and what I was pretty sure was a live band.
I was just about to close the curtains (what was left of them anyway) when I saw something odd. A group of young men in masks, all wearing football jerseys, was marching up Baron Bigshot’s perfectly manicured lawn.
“What in the world?” I murmured, pressing my nose against the wooden window sill divider.
Suddenly, they all raised their arms, each holding a football. And then, in perfect synchronization, they let loose.
Footballs rained down on Baron Bigshot’s party like a sports equipment hailstorm. I watched, mouth agape, as chaos erupted.
Guests screamed and ducked, champagne flutes shattered, and Baron Bigshot himself stood in the middle of it all, looking like a man who’d just seen his worst nightmare come to life.
As quickly as it started, it was over. The football players high-fived each other and jogged away, leaving destruction in their wake.
I was still trying to process what I’d seen when there was a knock at my door. It was Mrs. Stewart, grinning like the cat that got the cream.
“Did you see that?” she asked, barely containing her glee.
I nodded, still stunned. “What… how…”
She winked. “Let’s just say my nephew’s football team owed me a favor. Thought our dear neighbor could use a taste of his own medicine.”
I couldn’t help it. I burst out laughing, tears streaming down my face. “Mrs. Stewart, you’re a genius!”
She patted my arm. “Sometimes, dear, karma needs a little push.”
The next morning, I was enjoying my coffee when there was a furious pounding at my door. I opened it to find Baron Bigshot, looking decidedly less baronial in his rumpled pajamas.
“YOU!” he sputtered, pointing an accusing finger at me. “You did this!”
I took a sip of my coffee, savoring the moment. “Did what?”
“Don’t play dumb! The football attack! It ruined everything!”
I raised an eyebrow. “Oh? And do you have any proof it was me?”
He opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water, clearly recognizing his own words being thrown back at him.
I leaned against the doorframe, feeling surprisingly calm. “You know, Mr. Worthington, sometimes life has a funny way of teaching us lessons. Maybe this is yours.”
His face turned an impressive shade of purple. “This isn’t over!”
As he stormed off, I called after him, “Oh, and Mr. Worthington? You might want to consider investing in some wooden planks for your windows. I hear they’re all the rage these days.”
I closed the door, grinning to myself. Penny looked up from her coloring book, curiosity shining in her eyes.
“Mommy, why was that man yelling?”
I scooped her up, planting a kiss on her forehead. “Oh, sweetie. He just learned a very important lesson about being a good neighbor.”
Well, folks, there you have it. Karma works in mysterious ways, doesn’t it? Sometimes it’s swift, sometimes it takes its sweet time, and sometimes it needs a little nudge from a well-meaning neighbor with connections to a high school football team!
So, tell me, have you ever had a neighbor from hell? A Baron Bigshot of your own? Drop your stories in the comments. After all, misery loves company, and nothing brings people together quite like tales of nightmare neighbors!
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