On December 25th, a little piece of us all died. But an even larger piece of George Michael died: like, the whole thing. No matter how hard his family tried to Wake Him Up, he was Gone Gone. Pop music, sports blogs, and random bathhouses in the Greater London area would never be the same.
Wham!
Seriously, how many bands are cool enough to name themselves after a present tense verb? And how many of those have the BALLS to put an exclamation point at the end? Not many, I reckon. And who else had the vision to put badminton shuttlecocks down their shorts in order to excite teenage girls, besides iRavens? Wham! did, that’s who. But you can only frustrate teenage girls into thinking you like vag for so long as a duo before you get bored of it, and feel the need to frustrate them all on your own.
The Solo Years
George decided to hide his sexuality in the late 80’s in the most cunning way possible: by wearing all leather, leaving 3 days of stubble, and shaking his tight ass in jeans at every opportunity. He was like David Copperfield, except he didn’t hide the Statue of Liberty with a magical illusion: it was his insatiable lust for dudes.
Other Stuff Happened
Sometime between that Faith album and the arrest that outed him, other things allegedly happened. Here’s a gif as we skip that part of his life:
Busted!
No one likes to approach a male at a public park restroom in Hollywood, offering to expose oneself, and then find out it’s a cop and there’s no sucky sucky gonna happen. No one. But what a kindly and loving way to announce that all of the fat middle-aged females stalking you should probably go back home to their diabetic porcine kids now.
Older but Still Gay
As George aged, he remained steadfastly loyal to the cock. Not just the shaft or the throbbing head, but the whole thing, and I mean those balls got attention as well, believe you me. Then one day he died. And the world is boring as fuck now.
