He has also claimed he was a close friend of the star towards the end of his life and released the tribute song Cry Out Of Joy after his death.
Jackson’s former stylist and hairdresser Steve Erhardt, who initially wrote a Facebook message to “believers” – the singer’s fans who still cling to the idea he is still alive – in 2017 saying he had a message for them.
The message said: “A tip for the believers, the Michael Jackson believers. You heard it here first, an announcement of sorts.
COMEBACK
“And in a couple of months, or latest at the end of the year, you will be receiving some very good news.
“It’s almost unbelievable. And not even the family knows… but I do.”
Erhardt has never made public exactly what the post referred to.
In June last year he shared another enigmatic post showing only the leg of a man wearing Jacko’s trademark white socks and baggy, short black trousers.
The post said: “In a recording studio, somewhere in the world, in an undisclosed location, he’s coming soon.”
Further fuelling the strange conspiracy theories has been a YouTube channel, “BeLIEve” focused on debating if Jackson is still alive.
In one video, it states: “Michael’s friend, Hollywood hair designer Steve Erhardt, told us last year that he would give good news to Believers (I mean people who believe that Michael Jackson is alive).
“Now he shared something that excited the fans.”
Michael Turegano, who has investigated Jacko’s death for almost a decade, said that Erhardt’s claims should not be dismissed.
He said last year: “He’s been in contact with Michael in the past. So I think we should care what he says.”
Jackson died after suffering a heart attack in 2009 but some people have refused to believe that is really what happened.
His personal physician, Conrad Murray, was convicted of involuntary manslaughter over his death, which was deemed to be a homicide, the Los Angeles County Coroner ruled.
My Neighbor Kept Hanging out Her Panties Right in Front of My Son’s Window, So I Taught Her a Real Lesson
My neighbor’s undergarments became the unlikely stars of a suburban show, taking center stage right outside my 8-year-old son’s window. When Jake innocently asked if her thongs were some kind of slingshots, I knew the “panty parade” had to stop, and it was time for a lesson in laundry discretion.
Ah, suburbia—where the lawns are pristine, the air smells of fresh-cut grass, and life rolls along smoothly until someone comes along to shake things up. That’s when Lisa, our new neighbor, arrived. Life had been relatively peaceful until laundry day revealed something I wasn’t prepared for: a rainbow of her underwear flapping outside Jake’s window like flags at a questionable parade.One afternoon, I was folding Jake’s superhero underwear when I glanced out the window and almost choked on my coffee. There they were: hot pink, lacy, and very much on display. My son, ever curious, peered over my shoulder and asked the dreaded question, “Mom, why does Mrs. Lisa have her underwear outside? And why do some of them have strings? Are they for her pet hamster?”
Between stifled laughter and mortified disbelief, I did my best to explain. But Jake’s imagination was running wild, wondering if Mrs. Lisa was secretly a superhero,with underwear designed for aerodynamics. He even wanted to join in, suggesting his Captain America boxers could hang next to her “crime-fighting gear.” It became a daily routine—Lisa’s laundry would wave in the breeze, and Jake’s curiosity would stir. But when he asked if he could hang his own underwear next to hers, I knew it was time to put an end to this spectacle. So, I marched over to her house, ready to resolve the situation diplomatically. Lisa answered the door, and before I could say much, she made it clear she wasn’t about to change her laundry habits for anyone. She laughed off my concerns, suggesting I “loosen up” and even offered me advice on spicing up my own wardrobe. Frustrated but determined, I came up with a plan—a brilliantly petty one. That evening, I created the world’s largest, most garish pair of granny panties out of the brightest fabric I could find. The next day, when Lisa left, I hung my masterpiece right in front of her window. When she returned, the sight of the massive flamingo-patterned undergarments nearly knocked her off her feet. Watching her fume while trying to yank down my prank was worth every stitch. She eventually caved, agreeing to move her laundry somewhere less visible—while I quietly relished my victory. From then on, Lisa’s laundry vanished from our shared view, and peace was restored. As for me? I ended up with a pair of flamingo-themed curtains, a daily reminder of the day I won the great laundry war of suburbia.
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