Yes, I know . . .

Michael Jackson is dead. So what?

I’m not a cold person, but the posthumous “I love the King of Pop” parade on Twitter is really starting to rot my crotch.

If we were tweeting about MJ yesterday, it certainly wouldn’t resemble today’s emotional fanfare. We’d be harsh, cruel, judgmental and on a witch-hunt to deck the off-white diva with a thing for kids, animals or perhaps just a 1988 bottle of Pepsi. Earlier today, @leica0000 provided a real break from the fake tears: “Jacko tried to get into heaven, but God told him to beat it.”

Crotch grabs. Makeup. Noses. You name it. This washed up, washed out pop star was an easy target, and we went for it.

And now, we’re sad? We’re so bad.

At least we’re funny.

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