Memo to CBS:
I've got your next hit show. If you're looking to expand upon your hit Crime Scene shows, then this one is a slamdunk. The infinite number of plot twists and seedy characters could keep the series running for years. And, as long as you don't insist on casting Mandy Patinkin, we might have a winner.
Think of all the possibilities. Let's start with the dead king of pop himself or herself or itself. Allegedly, he was topping off at 112 pounds at the end and I've carried heavier grocery bags home from Ralph's. The guy/girl/whatever will probably be buried in a cigar box. They autopsied him and I'm thinking it takes a Benihana chef longer to debone shrimp. Of course, the real fun for the coroner was probably trying to figure out how many plastic surgery scars were on his body. I have this image that, at the autopsy, the coroner asked the attendant to peel back the white sheet.
"I already did."
Get it? It's the kind of dark humor "Six Feet Under" used to do. People eat that stuff up.
Then, we have Michael's personal cardiologist who apparently had a failed business practice and was looking for mega millions that would help him maintain his exclusive Las Vegas home. Looking at his picture, I don't see a trusted physician. I see the produce manager down at Trader Joe's. Apparently, he wasn't bright enough to know that you give CPR to somebody on a hard surface, not a bed. So, he probably cracked more ribs than Tony Soprano. And who knows how he measured out Michael's pain killing injections? Paramedics arrived at the house and wanted to pronounce him dead on their arrival. But, the good doctor insisted they keep working on him as if he was the last rotisserie chicken at the picnic. Perhaps, the doctor was working feverishly because, just maybe, he had a sense of guilt. Sounds like a kid who's desperately trying to clean up the soda spill on the living room rug before his parents get home.
Are you getting the comic overtones in a scene like that, CBS?
Well, if the authorities find the doctor is negligible, that's where it gets really madcap. The Jackson family, knowing full well that their son and brother didn't have a pot to piss in even when he was adequately hydrated, will sue and then fight over the money in the type of battle that has not been witnessed since Fred Sanford went after Aunt Esther. The family has ordered a second autopsy and I wonder how many times you can actually weigh a liver. They are wringing their hands over the tragedy and I'm thinking they are also guilty to an extent.
Didn't the parents or those other four dumbbell brothers know just how insane Michael was? To say Michael is a little eccentric is like saying Osama Bin Laden is a little anti-American. They had to know what he was doing and taking and not eating. The only one in that Encino conclave who seems to have an IQ is sister Janet. Yet, meanwhile, she has trouble working out the intricacy of blouse buttons. I'm thinking a reunion of Sherman Hemsley and Marla Gibbs for the parents. We can get them. They show up once a year at the TV Land Awards and that's it. And let's not forget Diana Ross. As soon as there are two dozen or so styrofoam heads for all the wigs, she'll work cheap. Last I heard she was seen pushing a cart around a super market with her hand deep down into a bag of Cheezits.
Multiple story arcs can concentrate on Michael's kids. Who gets custody? Who wants custody? And can we get to change one of the kids' names? Blanket Jackson? Sounds like a mascot at Bed, Bath, and Beyond.
In sweeps months for CSI Michael Jackson, we can get Reverend Al Sharpton for a guest shot as he surfaces just in case we find out that there might be a white villain involved. But, maybe, there is racism with the doctor. He's Black, but Michael was a Black man who wanted to be White. There's got to be an episode or two devoted to that at least. Reverse reverse racism. Works for me.
And there are the varying opinions on how Michael was during his final rehearsal at the Staples Center the night before he died. Some say he was in great shape. Others contend he was lethargic and incoherent. There's not a lot of middle ground in those descriptions. Hopefully, somebody shot footage of the rehearsal which will turn up on You Tube. And that can be easily incorporated into our show with some cleverly integrated musical numbers. Maybe even a redo of "We Are The World," this time sung by Beyonce, Chris Brown, and, if available, Regis Philbin.
You can see my mind is racing with the possibilities. CBS, call me. I'm in the book. But, you better hurry. NBC is down to a half dozen versions of "Law and Order" and just might bite too.
Dinner last night: Cervelat on sourdough roll.