Michael Jackson’s ‘The Way You Make Me Feel’ Dubbed

Just when you had forgotten just how creepy Michael Jackson was, another behind the scenes shoot comes to light. This time the gremlins that live inside cameras caught Michael and his gang up to no good on the streets of Lancaster, harassing women as it was his wont to do.

What a weirdo.


There are 3 comments on this post

  1. Dilla Dawg
    2 years ago

    I am Michael Jackson.

  2. mothWoman12
    2 years ago

    I always thought Michael Jackson was a beautiful, kind spirit, and found it terrible that people would joke about him. God, the words people would say about him – it turned my stomach. My mum’s too – she was always a massive fan. But, and I feel like I can tell *you* this, something changed my opinion.

    I was lying in bed one night watching a re-run of TOWIE when something weird occured. Shapes started appearing at the foot of my bed and from thin air Michael Jackson appeared before me. That wasn’t even the strangest thing. He was drenched in what looked like honey, but must have been viscous lemon juice what with the overwhelming smell of lemons that accompanied his apparition.

    He said to me, “I can’t stay long, but there’s something I need you to know Jess.” And he beckoned for me to approach him. What else was I going to do? I was scared for my life and had no means of escape, so I hoiked the cover to my chin and sat up.

    “What is it?… What do you want?” I managed to stutter.

    “I need to confess to you that I am actually a massive raper. Don’t tell your mum, it would kill her to hear.” And then just like that – after he pressed his finger to his lips, sucked the tip of it a little, started licking it up and down suggestively, invited me to do the same, felt around the insides of my cheeks and sucked his finger again – he was gone!

    What did I do? Well, the only sane thing anyone would do in that situation. I went and told my mum. She was shaving her legs when I entered the room panting. I remember it like it was yesterday. She span around in a rage – a fag hanging out of her mouth like she does – and demanded I knock.

    I said, “Mum, you won’t believe it!”

    And she said, “I TOLD YOU TO KNOCK!”

    I said, “but you’re ruining the pace of my story.”

    She screamed, “KNOCK!”

    So I knocked and explained what had just happened, going into explicit detail about the finger thing because at the time I could still taste the lemon in my mouth and it was really disturbing and felt like an important part of the narrative for some reason.

    She has been silent the whole time, and it was only as I finished, and as she took a final drag from her cigarette, she uttered her last words, “I see…”

    Without pause she took the razor and slit the veins in all of her limbs so precisely it was, well, mesmerising. I couldn’t help but watch with an awed sense of admiration.

    It’s ever since that day that I couldn’t look at pictures of Michael again – nor listen to his music. It was a harrowing, nightmarish night that still scars me to this day.

    However this video was pretty funny. Haha. He wasn’t even from like Lancaster. So weird.

    1. Jessica's Rarebit
      2 years ago

      It seems as if you have entered the scary door. I once heard a similar story, told to me by my grandmother when she was still alive.

      She too was lying in bed one night playing Mario Kart, when she heard a strange knocking at the window. Upon opening the window she saw a young Michael Jackson standing on the shoulders of his brother Jermaine, who was in turn standing on the shoulders of his sister LaToya.

      He whispered into her ear, “Margaret” (that was my grandma’s name – and not the only spooky thing that happened that night) “I have come to see inside your knickers”.

      Well, needless to say my granny was a little freaked out that he knew her name, but who was going to say no to Michael Jackson looking into their knickers? Not my granny in any case.

      She beckoned for him to come in, which he promptly did by forward rolling through the window “quite gymnastically” as granny liked to say. As she looked back outside of the window, Jermaine and LaToya scuttled off on their hands and knees into the shrubbery and disappeared quite completely.

      When she turned back around Michael had already stripped down to his knickers, which, by a strange coincidence, were exactly the same as my grandmother’s. She let out a little gasp and watched as something was darting around in his pants – unnerved, she asked “Michael, what is that?”

      To which Michael, with his hand on his hips, jutting his crotch forward replied, “never you mind Margaret, we’ll get to that. Now show me what’s inside those delicious knickers or – so help me God – I will stab you in the eyes right where you stand.”

      Well, she had no choice. There was something about the way in which he smiled at her, those pearlescent teeth juddering in the blackness of her room, that made her comply. Now you need to remember that this was the 1970’s, so my grandmother sporting was what we could call nowadays, a massive hairy growler.

      This seemed to put whatever was inside Michael’s pants in a world of pain. An audible shriek, (nature of which: high in pitch, otherworldly) – pierced the air. Michael bent his head down. Listening close he nodded, his eyes constantly fixed on the bush my grandmother was sporting.

      “Uh huh, uh huh, yes master” he said.

      Suddenly, my grandmother recalled, he punched himself in the face causing blood to begin dripping from his lip. She watched as he let it roll down his bare, hairless chest and was amazed by the thickness of it. Like treacle, she said.

      “What else do you need from me, Michael?” She asked. He just stared. Then, without warning. He unleashed an ungodly scream, raising his arms to the ceiling and clenching his fists.

      This did nothing but alert my great grandfather who was a burly war veteran with a serious problem with ‘the blacks’ as he’d call them. My grandmother knew that this could only end badly, so told Michael he better leave before something terrible happened. Ushering him out of the window, Michael said nothing, but panted heavily, blood still rolling along his skin.

      Dropping down into the garden, Michael jutted his crotch forwards once more the meek voice emanating from within said, “I’ll be seeing you in death Margaret.” As his siblings, Michael scampered off into the night on all fours.

      Only seconds later her father burst through the door in the same identical panties.

      Panting he exclaimed, “Was… Wa… Wass there a black in here, Margaret?” His eyes darting around the room, scanning for a black person, avoiding Margaret.

      “No, Dad, I was just frustrated by Rainbow Road and I threw my controller and it broke, you must have thought that was a young black singer that could have been in my room.”

      Etched out of the darkness by the hall light, her fathers brow knotted as her words made complete sense to him. “Yes, I see. Well…” He turned to face Margaret. “Oh my God Margaret, what is that? Jesus! Put that disgusting thing away, my word. Have you never heard of a razor.”

      Shielding his eyes from her very hairy pubic area, he left the room calling for his wife, demanding he explain why she hadn’t told her daughter about, at least, trimming her pubes.

      My granny sighed in relief and her eyes returned to the window. Out on the moor she saw Jackson reuniting with his siblings. They all took it in turns to sniff his crotch and, as he howled like a strangled dog, the pack departed towards Leighton Buzzard’s shopping district, which was at this time pretty empty because it was very late.

      Michael was never to return, much to my grandmother’s displeasure, and as she died on her deathbed, she was pleased with the fact that she would soon be back in his company.

      “I’ll finally be able to see inside his knickers,” she said. “I’ll finally see his secrets.”

      Whipping off the covers, she spread her legs wide open, “I have kept it just how you wanted Michael, it’s perfect for you my sweet cherub.”

      Her eyes were rolling back to the ceiling, her fingers coursing through her pubes. She presented the whole room her vagina and – just like that – she passed on, her body freezing immediately and so rigidly that she had to be buried with her legs splayed.

      She left a real impact on everyone, it must be said. Boy, was it a hairy vagina.


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