Still a bit mystified by the coroners conclusion and labeling of Michael Jackson's death a "homicide." I get that an injection of sleepy juice ultimately did him in, but he paid a medical doctor (and handsomely) to provide it, striking up a deal for his personal care. Sure never trust a ho or a junkie, neither perhaps in their right minds, but the question becomes...
Do we charge McDonald's workers and the guy who invented deep fried Snickers with fatty assassination?
Or point a finger at Ed Hardy for the death of good taste and his questionable fashion sense? A "Love Kills Slowly" tee may not mortally wound, but at minimum makes a guy look like a douche.
Drunk dialing can mean hara-kiri to relationships, a two-for-one legal beat down of Grey Goose and AT&T.
I’m considering litigation against nature and its accomplice, the sun, for crispy frying my epidermis and killing plump cells. Argue all you want that I could have slathered on a thick layer of sunscreen, I have paperwork. I don’t need personal responsibility.
Guess we can’t be trusted. Our outcome in life, our happiness and sadness, has to be the result and fault of others, no? The blame game. It’s not me creating me, it’s you.
To quote Pretty Woman, "Work it, own it."