The Twisted Rantings of the Dantelope

Growing up, I used to think it couldn't get any better. On a cold but bright sunny day in Michigan, my mother went into the store to get something, and I remember listening to the radio. Michael Jackson's Billie Jean was playing and I swore to myself, "it just can't get any better!" As if music had reached the pinnacle of creation and was destined to a downward spiral of filth and plagarized material.

I guess, depending on how you feel about the 90's and 2k's, I may have been right. Alas, I digress.

It's true that I idolized a number of entertainers. Singers. Actors. Entertainers.

Like Michael. A boy who showed the world that age was no match for the passion of music and dance. A boy who grew up into a megastar, climaxing in my world with Thriller. A boy who grew up into one of the sickest, most disgusting, financially irresponsible, pedophile single parents that has ever walked the earth.

Like Mel. A man who exposed to the audience the very essence of a successful male. Good looking, capable of making us laugh, cry, be afraid, or even desire to change the world. A man who has, as of late, exposed a deep love of alcohol that extends above and beyond all of his other traits, and a neat habit of blaming the Jews for everything.

In fact, I could go on. Lord knows these two aren't the only ones. But the truth is it's just quite sad. So many of my heroes have turned out to be paper angels. Folks who, when the camera was finally allowed to see the real person, simply turned out so different from their PR-facing alter egos that the human mind could simply not manage the travesty of it all.

When heroes fall, innocence and hope are not far behind.

--- Dantelope @ at-least-we-have-billy-joel-oh-wait-no-we-dont