Michael Jackson’s troubles continue to follow him even after death. Singer/songwriter Paul Anka accused Jackson of swiping the song that he co-wrote. Says ABC News,

Michael Jackson’s new single, “This Is It,” was barely out of the box this week before singer-songwriter Paul Anka claimed that he and Jackson co-wrote the song in 1983 under a different title, “I Never Heard.” Anka told TMZ that Jackson “stole the tapes” from Anka’s studio, where he and Jackson wrote and recorded the song. “They have a major, major problem on their hands. They will be sued if they don’t correct it,” Anka told The New York Times. Soon after Anka’s threat of legal action, record executive and producer Jon McClain called to acknowledge Anka’s co-authorship and promise “all due credit and royalties.” The estate also released a statement that said, in part, “The song was co-written by the legendary Paul Anka.”

Well, if this isn’t proof that whatever talent Michael had earlier in life left him as he grew older and more bizarre, I don’t know what is. You’d think that if he bothered to steal it, it’d actually be good. It’s bland, boring, and lacking in originality. Watch it yourself:

Aaand cue the hysterical MJ fans…

It’s official: Michael Jackson’s family is turning Neverland Ranch into a public amusement park, probably because they couldn’t legally charge people to sniff the air over his grave. The New York Post says

The King of Pop’s loved ones could open Neverland to the public as early as Christmas, under an ambitious timeline set by its owners, private equity firm Colony Capital, and brother Jermaine Jackson.

The family and developers have even agreed to consider various names to call and trademark the sprawling 2,676-acre estate.

In addition to the roller coaster and ferris wheel that are already in place, look for new attractions like the Touch-Me-Go-Round — feel like a kid again as you ride in plaster replica’s of Michael’s lap! — and the Joe Jackson’s Wack-a-Jack — club those Jacksons sterile as they pop out of the hole. Bonus points if you hit Tito!

Family-sanctioned and eerily realistic Thriller doll:

PHOTO SOURCE: Splash News

File this under Dear God No: it’s looking like “Home Alone” star Macaulay Culkin might be the mystery father of Michael Jackson’s son Blanket (real name Prince Michael II), thanks to the miracle of in vitro fertilization. Ew. London’s The Sun says

Culkin — [who is godfather to Jacko's other two children -- starred] alongside Jackson in the video for his hit song Black or White in 1991, regularly visited the singer’s Neverland ranch, and took the witness stand to defend him at his 2005 child molestation trial. Now sources close to Jackson say the Thriller star asked Culkin for the donation to help him complete his “perfect” family.

[They said], “This isn’t just chitter-chatter, even Culkin suspects he’s Blanket’s father. Jackson and Culkin were best friends. He was one of the few people Jackson really trusted and Mack never let him down. Really, Jackson idolized him - that’s why he asked Mack to donate sperm.

Deep down, I think he always wished Mack was his son. Creating Blanket was the next best thing.”

God, what’s worse than imagining Kevin McCallister jerking off into in a sample cup while Michael Jackson hovers behind him in the background? No, seriously — I don’t know. So far all I’ve got is “unclogging John Goodman’s toilet after a week at Oktoberfest.” That’s why I’m asking you.

Disturbing pictures of the two of them together:

Pictures of Macaulay’s hot-ass girlfriend Mila Kunis in next month’s Details magazine:

Here it is: irrefutable proof that Michael Jackson is still alive. An (undated) video of a man (or woman) getting out of the L.A. coroner’s van (dry cleaning van?) and being furtively escorted into a parking garage (south entrance, next to Macy’s) … while wearing black pants and a white t-shirt! Ha ha! You know who else wore a white t-shirt and black pants? Michael Jackson. The Prime Directive has obviously been breached! The Michael Jackson Tribute Special has aired too soon! By the rings of Trelkis III, I must go back to the future and warn NBC, or all could be lost forever!

Michael Jackson’s death was officially ruled a homicide by the Los Angeles County coroner yesterday, which suggests that Conrad Murray, the doctor who administered the anesthetic Propofol to Jackson the morning of his death, will probably go to jail on manslaughter charges. Meaning he’ll only be able to practice medicine in Mexico, India, Thailand, and South and Central America, Bangladesh, Turkmenistan, Laos and most of Papua New Guinea after he gets out. According to Us Weekly

Detectives have been investigating whether Murray’s decision to administer Jackson propofol outside a hospital and as a sleep aid would be classified as negligence for an involuntary manslaughter charge.

Murray told LAPD detectives he was nervous Jackson was becoming addicted to propofol, so he was trying to wean him off. He’d been lowering the dosages and mixing it with two other sedatives, lorazepam and midazolam.

On June 25 — the morning Jackson died — Murray gave Jackson valium at 1:30 a.m. When that was unsuccessful, he injected lorazepam intravenously at 2 a.m. At 3 a.m., he gave the still-awake singer midazolam. He continued to try different drugs over the course of the morning.

At 10:40 a.m., Murray gave Jackson 25 milligrams of propofol — down from his usual dosage of 50 milligrams — after Jackson repeatedly demanded the drug.

Murray told detectives he then left Jackson alone to make personal phone calls. When he returned, Jackson wasn’t breathing. He was declared dead at UCLA Medical Center later that day.

I, for one, am happy to live in a time where the government keeps finding new ways to protect me from myself by legally giving credence to the phenomenon known as “perpetual victimhood.” Don’t punish addict; punish the dealer! Don’t punish the sex offender; punish the 14-year old girl who put her sexy pictures on MySpace! Don’t punish the fatass; punish McDonald’s for deep-frying in trans-fatty acids! Too bad pointing the finger isn’t an Olympic sport. We would fucking own it.

Those rumors that Michael Jackson’s nose had completely caved in on itself after dozens of rhinoplasties might be true after all. The NY Post says

Michael Jackson wore a prosthetic nose — and it was missing from his surgically mangled face as he lay in an LA morgue.

Left behind was a “small, dark hole surrounded by bits of cartilage,” [according to] witnesses who saw [his] body on the autopsy table.

Jackson wore the prosthetic to mask the effects of decades of plastic surgery.

I think he could have found a much more realistic looking nose if he’d just taken the time to look around. Like this one here, for example. It even comes with its own set of eyebrows. Two birds with one pair of glasses, baby!

And now for a British woman who spent $16,000 on plastic surgery to look just like Michael Jackson:

Actor Rupert Everett recently voiced his opinion on the death of Michael Jackson in a spectacular stream of verbal diarrhea. He told the Daily Mirror

“[Michael Jackson] looked like a character from Shrek. We all watched as he changed from black to white. He was living performance art. I think it was fortuitous that he died. He was a freak.”

Michael Jackson was “a freak?” Well, there’s a case of the surgically-disfigured pot calling the kettle black! But not too black. He continued:

“We have Michael Jackson, a black man who has gone white, and we have President Barack Obama, who is a half-white man gone black. It’s absolutely fascinating to watch.”

Then he added, “Ooh, ooh — I almost forgot — what’s black and white and dead all over? Michael Jackson! Ha ha! Get it?” before kicking his way through a crowd of paraplegic children and blind puppies.

Speaking of blind puppies, cute pictures of a dog named Bonnie who serves as a seeing eye dog for a blind dog named Clyde:

The former gay lover of Michael Jackson’s dermatologist and sperm donor Arnold Klein claims that Jackson could never have children of his own because his father literally beat him sterile as a child. According to London’s The Sun

Paul Gohranson alleged: “I asked Arnold why couldn’t Michael Jackson use his own sperm and he said Michael was unable to produce kids, physically.

Once, when [Michael] was very young, Joe picked him up by one leg and started hitting him. Michael said that he didn’t mean to hit him in [the groin] - but he did and it hurt bad.

The second time [Michael] had put out a solo album and it didn’t do very well and they rowed that Michael was losing his voice, losing his looks and was gonna shame the Jackson family.

Apparently Michael started to cry and [Joe] said something like: ‘You’re a sissy and if you’re a sissy then you don’t need balls’ and proceeded to hit him [in the groin]. That was when the damage was done.”

Gohranson claimed that his lover told him Jacko’s testicle was “never the same again.”

If you’re a parent, you know just how effective cliched threats like “I’ll give you something to cry about” or “I will turn this goddamn car around” are. What you need is something with a little more bite. Something that really strikes fear into their grubby little hearts. And that’s where “Boy, I will beat your black ass sterile” comes into play. I swear, Joe Jackson should really write a book or something.

Us Magazine has footage of the infamous 1988 Pepsi commercial in which Michael Jackson’s hair caught fire, the supposed catalyst that sent him spiraling him into a lifelong addiction to painkillers that would ultimately lead to his death. The media dubbed it a “tragic accident.” I call it “God’s way of punishing you for having a jheri curl.” Or maybe “God’s way of punishing you for being a pedophile.” I’m no a priest or anything, but least one of those has got to be one of seven deadly sins.

Previously unseen pictures of Jackson showcasing needle marks and necrotic tissue in an ABC interview in 2002:

Although they have yet to formally present their case to the D.A., several inside sources claim that the LAPD is treating Michael Jackson’s death as a homicide. Their yet-unnamed culprit? Jackson’s personal physician, Dr. Conrad Murray. TMZ says

Law enforcement sources tell us the evidence points to the anesthesia Propofol as the primary cause of Jackson’s death… [and that] there is already “plenty of powerful evidence” linking Dr. Murray as the person who administered the drug to Jackson, including the Propofol, an IV stand and oxygen tank.

The LAPD has [also] had “multiple conversations” with the L.A. County District Attorney’s office.

A homo-cide? HOMOcide? Doesn’t that seem a little archaic a word choice in this day and age? “Fag-o-cide” or “butt-pirate-cide” would have just as easily sufficed and without stepping on the well-manicured tootsies of today’s modern queer. Let’s try and stay classy, Los Angeles Police Department.

No, it wasn’t LaToya Jackson employing some special eye of newt potion that enabled MJ’s body to disappear from the Staples Center, but an underground tunnel. E!Online has the exclusive information:

A source tells E! News that after the service, security moved the golden casket through an underground tunnel that connects the Staples Center to the Nokia Theatre. The tunnel—typically used by maintenance and food service workers and occasionally talent—runs beneath Chick Hearn Court, where hundreds of media were encamped following the ceremony.

La Toya, Rebbie and Janet Jackson used the secret passageway when they went across the street to thank the fans at the Nokia Theatre.

M.J.’s body was loaded into a van at an L.A. Live loading dock and was transported to refrigerated mortuary storage at an undisclosed location.

Sources also say that a “skulking gangrel creature with an ill-favoured look” was their guide through the passageway.

After all the tears, tributes, flowers, and hysterical fans, I’d say it’s about time to remember that really obvious side of Michael Jackson that everyone’s been ignoring. Let’s take a trip down memory lane. I’m talking about the Michael with the penchant for little boys, toys, and Jesus juice. So let’s take a gander at the photos of Michael’s inner sanctum, that part of Neverland Ranch that was off-limits to anyone not specifically invited inside, taken as part of the prosecution process back in 2003. Remember? Pedophile? Here’s a fun game: Count the oversized dolls! See if you can find Jacko’s medicine cabinet! See if you can find the bottle of Clorox, always great to wash away those pesky brown spots!

I’m slightly terrified that there’s going to be a big pile of stuffed animals, and his face is going to be camouflaged in with them, motionless and silent, just like that scene from E.T. Someone hold me!