Somebody needs to tie Joe Jackson’s leash to a tree in the backyard and give him a neck bone to chew on, so he will stop barking and slobbering about Michael Jackson’s death already. The geriatric hate child of Aughra and a dehydrated catfish is spilling some shit-covered bullshit to the News of the World about his wife Katherine and their son. Joe blames Katherine for Michael’s death, because he knew their son was hooked on pills and he told her to go and save him. Joe would’ve done it himself but his switch was in the shop at the time.
In a videotaped interview with the NOTW, Joe says that he could barely look at Katherine after Michael’s death, because he believes she could’ve pretended it.
Joe farted and he farted loud, “Katherine was weeping uncontrollably and highly upset. But I didn’t give her a hug because I was MAD at her crying. I said, ‘If you had listened to me Michael would be living now!’ I kept thinking about the times I had stood in front of her saying something was wrong. I couldn’t bottle up my feelings. Katherine didn’t say a word – I had to get away from her. If she’d done what I asked, Michael would be here today. I am incensed with her. She could have made a difference.
I had begged her to go over and stay with him, but she insisted he needed his privacy and gave him the slack she thought he needed. A child will listen to his mother more than his father – and Michael was a mummy’s boy. He listened to her. I still haven’t been able to talk about it to her as she doesn’t want to hear what I have to say. She is a shell of the woman she was. She has headaches, can’t sleep and won’t deal with these problems – like Michael she would rather run away.”
So I guess Joe Jackson’s Blu-Ray company isn’t panning out and the allowance Katherine gives him isn’t cutting it so now he has to tap dance for the tabloids in order to pay the car note on his jump-off’s Buick. Okay, then.
It makes sense that the front of Joe’s neck looks like the opening to Hell, because everything that comes out of his mouth hole sounds like it came out of Satan’s ass first. Go to bed, Joe, and take Shannon Price with you.