For anyone else sick of the coverage of the freak, there’s a nice slide show of Farrah Fawcett here. (Hat tip: American Power)

Let’s talk a little about my use of the word “freak.” I don’t say it with gusto, nor do I say it with venom. Well, not venom for Michael Jackson, anyway. I say it with venom for the culture and the media that not only made possible, but encouraged, Jackson’s descent into his freakish world. I don’t have the flair for writing Pundette does, so I’ll excerpt her post, “Disgusted” (which didn’t even start out about Michael Jackson):

How fitting that images of another great example of coolness, unconvicted child-molester/freakazoid Michael Jackson, should be everywhere right now. Only an ailing culture would fall all over itself for a performer who, at his peak (before the extreme self-mutilation), defined himself by his artificiality. It was evident in his dance moves, in his over-produced sound, and in the silly pseudo-uniforms he wore. Eventually artificiality bloomed into bizarre unnaturalness. A healthy culture would have averted its eyes from a man so overwhelmed with self-hatred. But we’re suffering from cultural arrested development and have developed a taste for self-destruction. Get ready for multiple tell-all books from the inner circle (time to cash in!) that will curl your hair, and endless tributes that gloss over his pervitude.

Jackson was a freak, but he wasn’t solely responsible for that status. And pedophile or not, that parents would serve up their children to him for such unnaturally close attention is frightening.

UPDATE: Jonah Goldberg also captures my thoughts well. (H/T: Pundette.)