I’m going to be the next owner of Michael Jackson’s Neverland Ranch.
I’m not a jerk. I’m not hoping the king of pop fails to meet his $24.5 million dollar obligation to avoid foreclosure this March 19.
I just know my spring break is going to be spent in California awaiting word of whether Financial Title Co. will finally proceed with the auction of Neverland to get its money back.
This isn’t chump change, guys – according to Fox News, $24.5 million is the starting bid at the auction.
The starting bid.
But I’ve been saving my Daily Reveille editor paychecks for the past few weeks, and I think I can swing the first down payment with a decent co-signer.
I’m not messing around with this. This isn’t a joke, OK – a person’s hopes and aspirations should never, ever be held up for ridicule.
This is real to me.
I’m making a mature decision.
And good God almighty, I want to live in Neverland because I believe in fairies – and sometimes even my dreams get a shot to come true.
That’s what America is all about.
I’m not walking into this blind. That is a lot of money for a house that may have been home to repeated and flagrant acts of child molestation.
But every house has baggage. And sometimes you have to buy a fixer-upper.
It’s not like I’d have all that much to fix up, anyway – the black cloud of psychic pain infecting the home’s soul should be offset by the fact that the merry-go-round, the locomotive and Jackson’s royal curtains are also available to the frugal shopper or obsessive completist.
And really – who isn’t an obsessive completist when it’s finally time to settle down and build your own nest?
Some people would say I’m worrying about this way too soon – usually, nest-building isn’t required until you have another bird to share the space.
But I’ve always been a firm believer in witty and folksy aphorisms, so I know the early bird is always the one who catches the worm.
And there is no sweeter worm than Neverland.
Besides, with a nest that impressive, no bird could ever resist my mating song.
It’s totally worth the money, too. Living in Neverland has to be like living in Disneyland.
For the money I’m willing to pay, you can bet your bottom dollar that every member of my housekeeping staff will put Mickey’s crew of Imagineers to shame.
That’s why I say I’ve thought this through – what’s the fun of living in a living amusement park without the staff to maintain it?
And we’re not just talking about electricity bills here, dear readers – if electricity were all it took to keep the merry-go-rounds, karaoke and magic choo-choos running round the clock each day in Neverland then the king of pop would have never been evicted.
Electricity isn’t magic – it’s science.
For real magic to happen, you have to have love.
But when you can’t have a steady stream of magical creatures whose life-force you can forcibly extract when you kill them in cold blood typically does in a pinch.
Magic doesn’t grow on trees, kids.
I don’t know what kind of fairy-tale you live in, but I live in the real world – where the fairies are grim and the consequences grimmer. And if I have to personally murder and cremate 30 elves to get enough fairy dust to run the magic choo-choo for a year, then it’s hunting season in the magic forest.
Because I’m a businessman who knows that $24.5 million is seed money.
Anyone can buy the house called Neverland, but I’m pretty sure I’m the only guy on the market who knows what making magic happen each day costs in blood and sweat.
And with 2,500 acres, it’s bound to have a hell of a driveway.
I’m pretty sure the idyllic scenery will fully insulate me from the world at large – and living near so many wineries would have to be good for my overall health.
Most importantly, though, I could finally just be myself without having to worry about Daily Reveille photographers catching my every idiosyncrasy in celluloid for the rest of the world to see.
I know they’re out there, too.
Watching me.
So I don’t want to go into too many details – talking about exactly what I would do and how I would live when I make Neverland my home seems like a very slippery slope to step upon – but I’m pretty convinced it would be awesome.
Totally, totally awesome.
Even if I still can’t moonwalk.
—-Contact Neal Hebert at nhebert@lsureveille.com