debbie rowe—one solid featherwood
The sub-Nordic blood that rockets through my veins is warmed whenever I'm made aware of a woman who refuses to succumb to the mental afflictions, character flaws, and logical deficiencies which typically plague and immobilize her gender. Momentary wisps of happiness emanate from my boxer shorts when I discover a gal solid enough to stand up for her Old Man in a case where The Man is tryin' to string his ass up on some bogus charges.
Such a gal is Debbie Rowe, ex-wife and baby-makin' partner of razor-nosed accused chomo Michael Jackson. Mannish and square-jawed in the manner of announcer Shadoe Stevens, Rowe hoodwinked prosecutors into believing she'd help their case. Instead, she described her ex as a good father and a decent man who is being victimized by greedy "vultures" seeking to feast on his dwindling wealth.
What's remarkable is that Rowe isn't permitted by Jackson's phalanxes of attorneys to even VISIT the pair of children she plopped out of her snatch on his behalf—the little girl and the baby Blanket boy—for more than eight hours every 45 days. Essentially, he stole her children from right out of her muscular Caucasian vagina, and the woman STILL is able to suppress her maternal instincts, get up on the stand, and refuse to drop a dime on Michael Jackson.
Some have suggested that she must be receiving hush money, but that doesn't make any sense to me, because, as you know, I'm not materialistic.
