JM Blaine riffs randomly on insomnia and four a.m. urges to snort Ambien in the desperate attempt to get a little sleep. Until his brain whispers this is what killed the Kings of Pop and Rock and Roll.

Let me begin by saying that YES, I am aware that what I’m about to say sounds crazy. And not just any kind of crazy. We’re talking Stephen King nuthouse crazy—a room with padded walls and a warden named Large Marge who goes about 6’6” and 250 and hasn’t smiled since the Reagan administration, partly [...]