Prince Charming Given 48 Hours To Revive Michael Jackson

PRINCE Charming has been handed a 48-hour deadline to get to the Neverland Ranch and attempt to revive Michael Jackson.

Preparations are currently being made to place the singer in a glass coffin which will then be surrounded by an honour guard of seven dwarves in their dress mining uniforms.

Tom Logan, the Jackson family lawyer, said: "It's up to Prince Charming now. The ball is very much in his court."

The dwarves hope the Prince can find a horse that is strong enough and fast enough to carry him the 150 miles from the Disneyland Castle in Anaheim and rouse the star from what one bearded Neverland insider described as 'the very deepest of sleeps'.

Jackson was declared dead last week after being injected with the juice from a poisoned apple, which police believe was supplied by a very ugly old woman with a large wart on the end of her nose.

The Neverland source added: "Just last week we watched him rehearse a lovely song about how one day his prince would come. He was on terrific form and didn't even need the woodland creatures to help him get dressed. And now this."

A spokesman for Prince Charming said: "His royal highness developed a very close friendship with Mr Jackson after returning one of his shoes, but we think some people may have got the wrong end of the stick, as it were.

"He's very sad at the way things have turned out, but he thinks it would be best if everyone just moved on with their lives."

The spokesman added: "He will attend the funeral but then he fully intends to continue with his plans to spend the summer having acrobatic sex with a wide selection of European princesses and doing a bit of shopping."

My Big Gap Year: Pope And Glory

This week finds me in the former lava-loving, viaduct-building world dominator: Roma, Italia!

It's always been my dream to come to Rome so I can see if all roads really do lead here. I now fully understand how they do as there are just so many roads, and they literally lead in hundreds of directions. Romans get super excited about the roads and rarely stop their mopeds to let regular people onto them.

First stop was the world's most important fashion street: Via del Corso. I treated myself to a new pair of flip flops: real Pradas completely encrusted with diamante instead of toe-cheese like the ones I've been wearing since China. Normally, I'm totally against designer gear, but 'When in Rome…' Besides, those kiddies get really pissed off when they spend all day making flip flops just for spoil-sports not to buy them. Plus, I've been to Vietnam and know that 5p a day can actually stretch quite far there.

By the grace of God, I followed one of the many roads all the way to the Vatican, home to wonderful people wearing costumes: some all Mardi-Gras like the Swiss Guard and others much more serious like His Lordship, the pope. My new flip flops were beginning to chafe a little bit as I headed for the Sistine Chapel, but I took that to be an indication of their immense quality and thoroughly enjoyed every minute.

Michelangelo was so good at painting noses and hands, which are without doubt the most difficult things in the whole of art. However, there didn't appear to be any secret messages hidden in the Sistine Chapel, which made me think the Da Vinci Code might not be the ground-breaking masterpiece I'd imagined. I learned so much more about Catholicism from Dan Brown than I ever did in four years of RE – his ability to mix a super story with page after page of hard fact is so impressive. So I pressed on, down to the crypts, still optimistic even though my feet were beginning to swell. I walked around the catacombs for about an hour, checking every dead pope for a hidden message, possibly left there by Mary Magdalene or one of her and Jesus's kids. It was in vain. By the time I left, my feet were bleeding and I was in the shittest mood of all time. But then I realised: this is what Catholicism is all about! Now I know the pain of Jesus and Sparticus!

Bizarrely, the most important lessons in life are the ones Dan Brown can't teach us. They're the lessons we learn when we strap on the dreaded jaggy garter in a frenzy of self-flagellation, or like the fashion-conscious Roman around town, strap on the diamante Prada flip flops and wait for their crippling powers. This is what makes Roma, Italia the greatest city in the world.