Jack has a mother Jill, and Jack is wikipedian that believes everything written, verifiable, and with a high degree of liklihood is encyclopedic, even when it comes to [[biographies of living persons]]. In a nutshell, if it is not permanent legacy information that will hav effects beyond the death of a celebrity and it *is* privileged information, then it is not encyclopedic.

Jack: Hey ma. I got somethin' real important to write and they won't let me. (climbing stairs)

Jill: (from upstairs) Aw, c'mon boheh, how many times I tol' you NOT to talk about no THEY when I don' got no clue who you might name.

Jack: It's about Michael Jackson and it's from a reputable source and I just gotta get it in his bio.

Jill: Well, you just sit there, get out 'cher pen an paper and write a bio of Michael Jackson...I'll see what'cha come up with, 'kuz I ain't never seen the man in person...didn know you had, either, outsid'a that Thriller concert back in th' eighties.

Jack: (writing) Sara Pratcher, a.k.a. Suzie Gottaknow in a newspaper gossip column wrote that she has it from reliable sources that Michael Jackson does Estradiol.

Jill: Mighty short. Now, who won't letcha write that, bohey. You can write that on any wall of the can and it'll stand for months as high art. It dohn rhyme, and nobody'll be too quick with the acetone in this neighbourhood.

Jack: Uh...well...ma...I tried to write it on a wikipedia bio and it got terminated with a {{citation needed}} in about five minutes, and about half an hour later it was gone, replaced with <!--Privileged information deleted.--> that don't show to nobody but editors.

Jill: Call me ignernt, son, but what in the bloody blue blazes is a wikipedia bio?

Jack: I'll show yuh, ma, you just "google wikipedia", yeah...now click on create account...make up a password...NO, DON'T TELL ME MA...see now there's your bio and your talk page, it don't get no spam, see, just stuff about what'cha do on the wiki.

Jill: *My* bio? What the hell'm I gonna do with a no-account biography of myself...whatcha got me into son...Am I the only one who can write here?

Jack: Uh...no...that's the beauty of it...anybody can confirm or deny whatcha write and take issue with it on your talk page.

Jill: Are YOU tellin' me your Uncle Marty could come up from his meanderin' and ramblin to tell folks about MY Hormone Replacement Therapy -- and hav it lookin' like it's comin' straight from the horse's mouth?

Jack: Hangs head (this jig is going nowhere, fast).

Jill: Lem'me get this straight, kiddo, you want me to use this account to write in Michael Jackson's bio...you know? I bet he's got a hundred thousand dollars a year watchin' that thing! Uh...uh...noway...nohow...best thing that can happen is that this here account go away.

Jack: But, ma, it's a fact!

Jill: Sure, boy, and half a the people watched that scene of Michael feedin' his baby like it just came out of a fire will believe it, but it don't b'long here. If I ain't gonna put up with no news about my HRT in yo' uncle Marty's mouth, this stuff ain't gonna stand fer ten minutes on no encyclopedia.

Jack: Ma!

Jill: That's the end of it, boheh. Lemme put it this way. How do you suppose Sara Pratcher got hold of prescriptions for Michael Jackson?

Jack: Uh...they were prob'ly shredded at the drug store...

Jill: That's th'only reliable authority in this case, and he ain allowed to tell no court of LAW what'ees givin Jackson. Now, If I hear a you tryin' ta run this jig through yo' Aunt Ruth, I'm tellin' yo fathah 'bout that weed you bought last week.