The news is out: Michael Jackson's on-site physician, Dr. Conrad Murray, administered the drug Propofol that killed the King of Pop. So now what? Most of us figured this out the day of Michael's death anyway. I don't know about you, but I really don't care. I know that may sound insensitive or unAmerican [you know, to bleed your heart for the Man in the Mirror], but I'm much more invested in discoursing about the ugly behind MJ's drug addiction. You know what I'm talking about: his childhood celebrity, the plastic surgery, his genius, the "sleepovers", his adoration of Whiteness, the wives, the babies, Daddy Joe. I definitely believe the law should prevail and all that. But come on, the real ugly in Michael's untimely death was the man's addiction. People, he would go to sleep with an IV. I know there's rumor that Dr. Murray will be a manslaughter suspect and that's what's up, I guess. Besides, the world [or the media] is going to need somebody to blame. I just hope someone points out, in Technicolor, that MJ was an addict and that's the real horror in all of this. That's it. I'm not opening up my mouth again.
Keith Josef Adkins is an award-winning playwright, screenwriter and social commentator.