When Michael Jackson died the world let out a gasp.

Some did so out of a profound sadness, some out of shock, and some just because now their wee sons could go outside unattended.

Not long after, people started worrying about Jackson’s estate. Who would get his Beatles rights? Who’d inherit the dusty set of Captain EO - and what was to happen to his pickled penis?

We heard it’s had kind of a dill/vinegar wrap on since he was twelve.

It ends up the will that made such material designations – according to Randy Jackson – it has a forged signature.

It’s a rough time to be MJ. Not only have all his songs been stolen by Hispanics like 18 years before he recorded them, but at this very moment he’s probably realising that being surrounded by senior citizen women with a Jesus-juice allergy most likely implies that wherever he is – it certainly isn’t his heaven.

A harsh awakening, no doubt.

Well we only wish we could tell him that his name is still wrapped in turmoil down here too. Sure, we finally got the ultimate destination of his children figured out – but what about the rest of his crap? You know, like his pickled penises. And his pants.

It seems some nefarious fellow decided to ensure those pickled penises and pants don’t get to the person whom Michael had intended at all. We know this because it’s recently been made clear that MJ’s 2002 will has a forged signature gracing the long line at the bottom.

That’s what Randy Jackson thinks anyway. TMZ sums things up:

“Randy Jackson claims Michael Jackson could not have signed his 2002 will, because he was 2,475 air miles away from the place the document was supposedly inked. According to the will, it was signed on July 7, 2002 at 5:00 PM in Los Angeles. Randy Jackson tells TMZ he has proof MJ was in New York from July 5 through July 9, on a campaign against Sony honcho Tommy Mottola claiming Mottola had a thing against Black artists.”

Hecklerspray thinks this is most likely a matter of Randy not getting any monkeys out of the deal. Imagine, your brother Michael Jackson dies and you don’t get any monkeys. We’d probably complain too.

We’d complain until we at least got a walrus. Michael probably had dozens of those stashed away. Whoever the proper walrus-inheritor is probably won’t even miss just one.

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Like most of the planet, we’ve spent the last few weeks weeping hysterically along to the words of Dirty Diana, or turning up at beat poetry nights to deliver a sobbed version of Billie Jean with a simple bass drum accompaniment.

Our grief, it seemed, was never going to end. At one point we even considered having Michael Jackson’s strange clown face tattooed onto our own faces, so that we could spend the rest of our lives singing Man in the Mirror in front of a mirror. To the man in the mirror.

And then we realised two things. Firstly, we realised that we prefer Prince. Secondly, there are lots of other Jacksons to fall in love with. “Could one of them replace Michael?” we whispered to a passing old man. His silence told us everything we needed to know. Yes. One of them could. But which one?

Without even a second thought, we immediately discounted both Janet and LaToya on the grounds that both of them are women. In any case, Janet is probably a bit too successful in her own right, so if we replaced Michael with her, we’d have to find someone to replace Janet. That’s too much work. And LaToya is a little bit slutty. On the plus side, she does have exactly the same face as Michael. Still, no girls, we decided. That was the rule.

Tito was also dismissed early on. Even back in the heady days of the Jackson Five, he was rumoured to be “the quiet one”, which is an astonishing feat. A bit like being considered the gayest member of the Village People. His stage dynamism let him down too. You’d never catch MJ biting his bottom lip during a boring guitar solo.

Next for the chop was Marlon Jackson, whose god-awful foray into solo work was so abominable that he ended up jacking in music altogether and becoming an estate agent.

Then Randy was thrown out, not on the grounds that he didn’t deserve a shot, but for sharing a name with the fat American Idol judge. If we were going to flounce around the world telling people that we’re massive Randy Jackson fans, we wouldn’t want to waste time explaining to every second idiot that we’re talking about the one who replaced Jermaine in the Jackson Five, not the one who makes barking noises when young homosexuals stay pitch-perfect throughout a Barry Manilow recital.

And thus we were left to chose between Jackie – the oldest of The Jackson Five – and Jermaine, who will forever be fondly remembered as the silent one in the racist edition of Celebrity Big Brother. Both men have the same childlike Michael Jackson voice, but Jermaine just nicked it for his stronger pop credentials, having forged something of a successful solo pop career for himself back in the olden days. Thus Jackie was kicked to the curb like an old hooker.

So, without any further ado, ladies and gentlemen, we give you THE NEW MICHAEL JACKSON – JERMAINE JACKSON! WOO!

Who else is feeling MUCH BETTER now?

For more gold like this, visit Josh’s real site, Interestment. It’s just like this, but more.

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But the big question is, who’s going to win? It’d be sensible to ask the American Idol judges. But who? Not Simon because his teeth might burn a hole into your retinas. Not Paula because you’d want a legible answer and not the new judge because she looks so much like the photographer from Just Shoot Me that it honestly freaks us out.

So that leaves Randy Jackson. And he says a boy will win American Idol. So that’s that.

This week’s American Idol has been real edge-of-your-seat stuff, hasn’t it? Seriously, wow. Getting to see which singers we’re allowed to forget about instantly and getting to see which singers we can forget about in a month when they’re inevitably voted off – with the glimmer of a chance that we won’t be allowed to forget about one of them until precisely three seconds after their debut inspirational power-ballad single is released – is absolutely entertainment at it’s best. Also, we have pathetically low standards.

But you know what? All we want to do is to skip forward a bunch of months and discover who the winner of American Idol will be. This is down to our enormous impatience as human beings as well as our deep – yet entirely rational – phobia of useless Whitney Houston covers.

Luckily for us, AOL is just as intolerant of American Idol as we are, so it’s gone straight to the source to find out who’ll win. Well, not the source as such – it went to Randy Jackson, the judge who looks as though he knows slightly less about American Idol as the rest of us but is still really excited by it nevertheless.

And guess what? Randy Jackson seems certain that a boy will win this year’s American Idol:

“I just think for some reason this year…the boys are just on a whole ‘nother level. I mean, there are some great girls as well. I’ve been saying it — I said it before them [Simon and Paula], and you can quote me… These kids are different than any other season we’ve had, and I think that these boys are some of the most talented we’ve ever had.”

And, of course, one of the boys that Randy Jackson is probably referring to is Danny Gokey – the American Idol contestant who has the bland looks, tragic emotional background and instant forgetability of a winner. Honestly, the American Idol producers want Danny Gokey to win so much that they’re a whisker away from showing footage of him healing the blind with the power of his touch alone.

Anyway, it’s a gamble for Randy Jackson to bet on a boy to win American Idol so early – in the past girls have won the most seasons of American Idol, followed by boys and then Taylor Hicks who, as everybody knows, is an asexual cartoon gold prospector from the 1850s.

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For example, duetting with cartoon cats is no longer in fashion, drum sounds no longer have to echo for 30 seconds and also the popularity of the internet means that people can discover how bad your new songs are before they've even paid for them. But that hasn't stopped Paula Abdul from recording a brand new album.

Paula Abdul hasn't had a UK top 20 since 1992. We get the feeling it'll stay that way.

It may come as no surprise that Paula Abdul is a woman with several fingers in a lot of pies. What may be surprising is that none of the pies are filled with psychotropic drugs that can be absorbed through the fingers. They're filled with, um, multimedia opportunities. Or something.

Obviously Paula Abdul is a fixture on American Idol, where she gets to dole out all kinds of advice to singers – some that may or may not be delivered sexually – in the form of a confused old lady who can't stop giggling for long enough to work out where she is. Then there's Hey Paula, the reality TV show which proves that, actually, Paula Abdul is like that all the time.

And then there's also film work – Paula Abdul choreographed that Bratz movie that nobody watched – and occasional appearances on the internet which mainly seem to involve gigantic sobbing breakdowns. But what about music? Yes, Paula Abdul may have been a pop sensation 20 years ago, but she's given all of that up now, surely.

No way! Paula Abdul's musical career is back! Whether you like it or not.

You may have noticed yesterday – between the commercials and the Tom Petty snoozefest and the actual sport – that Paula Abdul performed at the Super Bowl. Well, OK, maybe 'performed' is an overstatement. Paula Abdul mimed a song that sounded like a Britney Spears B-side demo at the Super Bowl and staggered around a bit. Have a look…

But that wasn't actually a Paula Abdul song – it's from Randy Jackson's new album. But the experience was so much fun for Paula Abdul that she's decided to to a full album herself. Access Hollywood reports:

After releasing her first single in ten years, the dance techno tune, “Dance Like There’s No Tomorrow”, former pop star and “American Idol” judge Paula Abdul announced on her official Web site that an entire album is coming this summer. The album will reportedly be titled, “Abdulmatic.” The collaboration on the single was a mutual decision according to Paula, who told Access Hollywood, "I didn't have to twist his arm and I didn't have to pay him and I didn't have to do the old kick-ball change, kick-ball change, back flip."

Not. A. Clue.

Whether Paula Abdul's new album will mean she has to leave to American Idol is unknown, but if Dance Like There's No Tomorrow is any indication she might have to. After all, it's going to be hard to take musical criticism from someone whose singing voice has been processed so much that she's ended up sounding like Stephen Hawking's robot wife being goosed by a toaster. 

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Paula Abdul Set To Release Brand New Album – Access Hollywood