Speaking as someone who has had his life ruined on three consecutive occasions by dishonest children, the death of Michael Jackson hurt me more than any other Roofers' World writer. Sure, we all laugh at kids when they tell us that they spent the day fighting robots on the moon with Goku, but as soon as they start spewing nonsense about some unshaven man in a blue sweater at the park who keeps trying to throw a burlap sack over them, suddenly every human being under the age of six is Honest Freaking Abe Lincoln! Sorry, sometimes I get a bit worked up and have to keep telling myself that part of my life is over. I swear, the police take one picture of you leaving a NAMBLA meeting--that I only attended because I was curious--and suddenly you're unfit for your job as a school cafeteria worker? Didn't know curiosity was illegal in this country. Anyway, make sure you tune in to the latest episode of "Roof Goofs," where we'll be spinning some MJ tunes and taking calls about the lighter side of ladders. God bless.
Since I spend most of my time over at the Drywall Weekly offices, I'm sad to confess that I missed out on the candlelight vigil held by Frank and the guys at Roofers' World. Needless to say, I was delighted when they asked me to contribute my thoughts about Michael from a uniquely drywall perspective. Most people don't know this, but drywall, like Kevin Bacon, connects nearly everything on our planet. Take a look at just about any Michael Jackson music video and what do you see? Sets. Sets constructed with drywall. Drywall that was built by licensed and bonded contractors. Now, take a look around you right now--what do you see? That's right, drywall. Like drywall, Michael Jackson has touched all of our hearts and left an immeasurable impact on all of our lives. I ask you to remember both Michael Jackson and drywall throughout the month of August.
Wow. You nearly work yourself to death, getting two degrees in professional writing and editing, and you end up proofreading content for a roofers' magazine? Not exactly what I had in mind for my life. Ever since I was a pop-music-obsessed youth, I wanted to write for Rolling Stone--I guess that wasn't in the cards, eh God? But now that one of my pop music idols has passed on, I'm honored to get this once-in-a-lifetime chance to commit my feelings about both Michael and his music to the world of print. [Note: Ryan's tribute ran a few words too long, so look for the complete version on our web site as soon as we have one. - Frank]
As the 19th century diver approaches a giant clam, a flash of brilliant golden light flares from within the shell. I emerge in a swirl of bubbles and do the timeless universal underwater hand signals for the following: ZODIAC KILLER, KKK, BLOOD OF YOUTH
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