I am Michael Jackson’s Sole Beneficiary: by Bubbles the Chimp

Letter sent to California Probate Court:

Michael Jackson’s recent, tragic demise affected the entire world, and all of us mourn the loss of a brilliant artist and humanitarian. Nobody, however, has felt his passing more deeply than me; his dearest friend, unflagging ally, and vaguely creepy pet chimpanzee.

Those closest to Michael treated him like a giant, flamboyant, pederast ATM machine. Never once did Joe come by just to play some catch with his boy, or take his son out to the casting pond, or belt-whip him through rehearsals for old times’ sake. And did Tito or Jermaine ever pop over to Neverland for a beer on the Ferris wheel? Or to reminisce about the old Jackson 5 days over a cup of coffee and some intra-venous Demerol? Well, actually they did, but never when Michael was home. It was always take, take, take from Michael. Especially those damn kids. “Feed us dinner!” “Drive us to school!” It never stopped with them.

I was the only one that gave something back. I would play with him, accompany him to the Grammys, even spend hours on end grooming him, pretending to look for lice in his hair. Of course there were no lice, nothing could survive in there, his entire head having been surgically replaced in 2003 with an autonomous colony of nanomachines, but he found it soothing and I was glad to oblige.

It was actually during one of these grooming sessions in early 1986 that he told me, “Bubbles, when I die of a heart attack on June 25, 2009, I want only you to inherit my entire estate.” So you see, oral contracts being binding, I am the sole beneficiary of the inimitable and lamented Michael Jackson.

To prove that Michael settled his princely estate on the right furry shoulders, I plan to follow in his example as a charitable benefactor, and give a large portion to his Heal the World foundation. For myself, I ask only enough to purchase the Democratic Republic of the Congo, enforce my will upon its existing population, and build a thousand-foot, fire-breathing, black marble statue there of me, Bubbles, God-King of Darkest Africa!

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About Brian

Brian is a retired drill-press operator who lives voluntarily off the grid in a cabin in Montana. He has apparently been sending fake letters to businesses and prominent citizens for decades, as a hobby. We became aware of him when he sent us an envelope filled with white powder and some uncooked alphabet soup letters that spelled ‘ANTHRAX”. We spent over $100,000 sanitizing our offices and testing the staff before labs identified the substance as baking soda. We thought it was hilarious and asked him if we could publish his outgoing mail.