You thrilled us. You made us dance. You bought a gorilla. You frightened our youth. You jumped on top of an SUV like Richard fucking Nixon. You slept in a hyperbaric chamber. You died from a heart attack. Possibly because your dipshit live-in doctor shot you up with too much Demerol.
There were still so many antics to look forward to.
Gone before your time.
Go on and beat it, Thriller.
