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July 26, 2002

Michael Jackson recently had a few words to say about the record industry. "The record companies really do conspire against the artists," he said at the Rev. Al Sharpton's National Action Network headquarters in Harlem. "Especially the black artists. When you fight for me, you're fighting for all black people, dead and alive."

So, are the abysmal sales of "Invincible" the result of racism by Jackson's record company Sony, or is there more here than meets the eye? Sit back, relax, enjoy, and let the Beefboy do, what the Beefboy does best… and that's break it right on down for you.

First off, let's clear something up. In no way, shape, or form, is the Beefboy a champion for Big Music. It is a fact, that since time immemorial, large music companies have become exceedingly wealthy by breaking the balls of new talent. Furthermore, when that new talent becomes yesterday's news, Big Music has no qualms about unceremoniously ditching musicians that no longer make them money and happily pushing newer talent, whose balls they can, once again, bust. The blood-sucking undead executives that live like fat cats off the creativity and talent of artists should be anally induced with a virulent strain of the Ebola virus and forced to watch re-runs of Full House through bleeding eyes. The music industry in general has cheated recording artists, of all races, out of their rightful piece of the pie. Okay? Now on to M.J.

Michael Jackson's latest album "Invincible," sold two million copies before dropping off the charts after 28 weeks. In comparison, Eminem sold that many copies of his latest album in two weeks. So left with the realization that an album that reportedly cost $30 million to produce, has tanked in every conceivable way, Michael Jackson has decided to call press conferences and create media stunts to explain his failure. So to help Jacko with an explanation of why his album didn't sell, the Beefboy submits to you, and rest of the world, an open letter to Michael Jackson.

Dear Michael Jackson,

So, after taking the mantle as the largest selling recording artist of all time, you've decided that The Man is keeping you down? Sit down for this one Jacko… you ARE The Man. You cozying up to the "brothers" is strangely reminiscent of O.J. Simpson, who shucked his champagne and caviar for grits when facing life in prison. Funny how those roots start growing when you need them.

Instead of pulling racism out of a hat to explain why Sony would invest $30 million in an album and then plot to make it sell poorly, why don't you take Bubbles the chimp out of your pants and prepare for the truth as only the Beefboy can lay it on you.

Jacko, you lost your musical relevance long before you proclaimed yourself the "King of Pop." In fact, it was probably about the time that Weird Al Yankovic recorded "Eat It" that your hold of the music industry wasin jeopardy. Clearly, the 80's were a good decade for you, but you ended the 80's by becoming one of the most laughable cartoon characters since Elmer Fudd. While other pop stars of the eighties were fighting to re-invent themselves for the next decade, you built Neverland Ranch, stocked it with roller coasters, monkeys and the bones of the Elephant Man, andmeanwhile did a plastic surgery number on yourself that rivals Mike Myers' transformation into "Fat Bastard".

The nineties were not kind to you, but frankly, you brought it all on yourself buddy. Marriages of convenience, increasing isolation, sporadic album releases and highly questionable sexual peccadilloes, all served to close the door on your fans' desire to hear your music. Believe the Beefboy when he tells you, we were far more interested in reading the headlines you generate for the Enquirer, than we were to hear your music.

You must have really hit rock bottom to play the race card, much less to do it with Al Sharpton, who is an even more laughable flake than you are. Has it occurred to you that you're now whiter than Donnie Osmond? Do you really believe that you have anything in common with other black artists? Your complaining that being black hurt your sales is like Pamela Anderson complaining that her boobs are too big.

You had a good run and now it's over. We'll forgive you for your excesses about the time you turn 60 and then get all weepy-eyed over the good ol' days and let you come back and do some ABC 80's reunion show with Dick Clark, who himself will be 1004 years old. Until then, why don't you go back to the ranch, be like that other cartoon character Elmer Fudd, and be "vewy vewy qwiet."

Dig it!


-The Beefboy