I know people who adored Michael Jackson and I can see why, he was as talented as he was tortured. I can't pretend to understand the man. All I can tell you is I got my butt kicked in Junior High because of him. Well, him and my mom.
I have no idea where my mom found them but my brother and I had matching bright red sweatshirts with "Michael Jackson for Prez" written across the front in "Thriller" font. They were exactly as hideous as they sound. I was already a pretty funny looking kid with short crooked hair, hairy arms and bizarre ideas about clothing. There was truly no shortage of nasty little nicknames for me before said sweatshirt appeared on the scene. But it was just too much for even the nicer mean kids to resist.
My most distinct memory, besides the basic spitting on my head, kicking me at the bus stop, etc., was when I was sitting by myself at one of those big, long cafeteria tables. Just me eating my lunch which most likely consisted of a mandarin and a salami and butter sandwich. You know the group of kids I'm talking about, the "cool" ones, decided to sit the same table. Before I knew it, they were laughing and all leaning to the left in order to push me off the table onto the floor.
I hated that sweatshirt. Reasonable or not, I blamed Michael.